


Hanging On (You're All That's Left To Hold On To)

by vMures



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Bobby Finstock, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Fox Stiles Stilinski, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vMures/pseuds/vMures
Summary: The Stilinskis find themselves struggling in the aftermath of the Nogitsune; sometimes help comes from the most unlikeliest of places.
Relationships: Bobby Finstock/Sheriff Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 474
Kudos: 995
Collections: Secret Steter BFFs





	1. Played by the Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fkajackclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkajackclaw/gifts).



> This is for the wonderful jackclaw. I hope that you enjoy it. It's not yet finished, but I'm continuing to work on it and will be posting more as soon as I can. 
> 
> Fair warning, my friends, this starts out fairly angsty. No one is in a good head space at the beginning of this and it shows. The alcohol abuse and recovery tags pertain to Sheriff Stilinski, but don't worry he does get his act together. 
> 
> The first chapter has several somewhat graphic descriptions of panic attacks. If you need to skip them and want me to summarize the events for you so you can read the later chapters, which will be fluffier, then let me know. 
> 
> The opening couplet of the first chapter is from my own poetry.

_I am a bottle played by the wind  
howling, mournful, and hollow within._

* * *

Stiles fingers dig into the straps on his backpack as he notes his dad's cruiser in the driveway. He was sure his dad would still be at the station as it felt like he worked even more than ever. But it looks like his deputies had convinced Noah to head home for the night. He knows his dad would say that he'd been working long hours because they were short staffed, but he also has seen how his dad, like his friends, can barely look at him. Stiles’ steps falter and he takes a deep breath and debates turning around, finding somewhere else to be for a while just so his dad doesn't have to set eyes on him. 

But he's not sure where else to go. He can't go back to haunting the stacks at the library since they had closed for the day. And there was only so much he could take of the stares he got at any of the shops in town. He was tempted to wander out to the preserve. Maybe something would eat him and solve all their problems. Hell, with the cold snap that was predicted maybe he'd just fall asleep and not wake up. 

He shakes his head, hitches his backpack up and decides to brave the house. If he's lucky his dad will already be asleep, or will be engrossed in a game on the tv. If he comes in through the utility room and then the kitchen, he might even be able to just slip upstairs unnoticed. 

He's not that lucky. His dad is sitting at the dining room table with a mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels along with several empty beer bottles. Noah's head comes up and Stiles freezes, remembering other times he'd seen his dad like this and words that cut more deeply than the shards of a thrown bottle. Dread pools in his stomach at the blank look on his dad's face, and he distantly notes the straps of the bag are cutting into his clenched palms. 

"You…" Noah slurs, whisky sloshing in the bottle as he gestures, "Claudia…."

Stiles’ breath freezes, and his vision narrows as Noah's voice trails off. And the only thing he hears is Noah muttering one word before downing more of the whiskey. A word that echoes through Stiles’ very being. "Monster."

He can't breathe and his skin suddenly feels too tight, like the world is pressing in on him. His parents voices merging in his head accusing him of trying to kill them, calling him a monster, a demon. All he can think is that he wants to be anything other than who he is, he wants to disappear, for the earth to swallow him up and end his pain. There is a weight on his back and he feels almost like he's tangled in something. He struggles his way free and then he's fairly sure he's running, but the world is still narrow and his chest still feels too tight. Everything feels unreal and strange, the trees surrounding him seem impossibly big and daunting. He barely notices that the ground seems much closer than it should. 

Had anyone been watching, they would have only noticed a flash of red fur disappearing into the preserve.

* * *

Noah awakes to a pounding head, a mouth that feels stuffed with cotton, and a neck stiff from passing out at the table. He pinches his nose and stumbles to the bathroom. He relieves his full bladder and splashes water on his face. He stares at his haggard face and tries to remember just how much he'd had to drink last night. He'd only meant to have a couple of beers to unwind after his deputies had sent him home and told him in no uncertain terms that he was to spend at least 24 hours at his own house and get some goddamn rest. 

He'd come home to a house that was too quiet and memories that were too loud. He figured Stiles must be with his friends studying for their upcoming finals. He'd turned on the tv to distract himself, but found it didn't help. So he'd gotten up to grab a beer, and tripped over an old photo album that had somehow ended up wedged under the sofa. He'd sat down with the album and some beers. His hand ghosted over the photos of him and his beloved Claudia, and the happy photos of all three of them when Stiles was still their little Mischief. God, he missed those days. He still hated how long it took him to realize that Claudia's spells of forgetfulness were much more serious and dangerous than he'd ever wanted to believe. And the recent **mess**...well it just made him remember how helpless he'd felt in the face of Claudia's illness, the horror of watching someone you love become a terrifying stranger. That was the point he'd reached for the whiskey. And everything after that is muddled. 

He thinks he may have ranted at the old photo album about feeling like a monster cause he didn't believe Stiles about Claudia hurting him or about the supernatural when Stiles tried to explain himself. Lord knows it's one of the reasons he's had trouble looking his son in the eye after having so completely failed him. 

He shook his head, grabbed some tylenol and figured he'd better shower and get ready for work. Sure they told him to stay home for 24 hours, but there was plenty that needed to be done at the office. And he'd gotten some rest, though a small voice in the back of his head that sounded remarkably like his son suggested that being black out drunk is not actually rest.

* * *

Stiles shivers as he wakes up, cold and confused. His body aches in weird ways, and wherever he is, it's too lumpy and musty smelly to be his room. He crinkles his nose the smell of damp earth and rotting leaves making him want to sneeze. 

"What the fuck have you gotten yourself into now?" His inner voice is particularly snarky as he blinks his eyes open and tries to figure out where he is. Wherever he is it's dark and narrow, with just a bit of light coming through from above. Did he fall in a hole out in the preserve? But surely someone would have noticed a person sized hole….

Stiles feels a strange motion, kind of like a twitch along his back and the sensation of brushing against something, but that's not his leg. "What in the world?" He thinks as he cranes his head around to try to get a better look, and is that a fucking tail? 

He yelps and jumps finding himself launching up and out of the tiny den he'd apparently made himself last night. He shakily looks down and it's a much shorter distance than it would usually be. He feels his chest tightening again as he notices that he has paws instead of hands. 

His breath is coming in pants and his vision is starting to darken again as he looks down the length of his now very vulpine body and tries to come to terms with the fact that somehow he has shifted into a fox. 

Surely he's dreaming...but he's never dreamed that he was a fox before. And he's never been able to smell anything in dreams. But he has no fingers to count to be sure, and oh gods, what if he's become the Nogitsune again? 

He is panting more frantically now. There's only the one tail though, and no shadows, just a single fox tail, bristled out and lashing about. He can't be the Nogitsune again, he just can't. 

As the world darkens further, he prays to a god he's barely believed in for a while that this is all just a very bad dream.

* * *

"Sixteen fucking years, Greenburg." Bobby mutters into the neck of his coke bottle, his dinner sitting uneaten and cold before him.

"Fuck, you'd think I'd miss you a little less after sixteen years. Still feels like I lost a fucking limb and not just my left testicle." He packs up the leftovers, cause he knows he'll have no desire to eat. He never does on this day. Usually just makes do with a protein shake or three, no matter how much Greenburg's ghost would yell at him. 

"God damn it, your ghost isn't even around anymore for me to yell at."

"Well, if you yelled at me all the time, I would have probably moved on too. And watch the language, my little monkey, I didn't raise you to be so crass."

Bobby can't help but jump, rolling his eyes as he turns to eye the ghost that is currently scolding him. "Nana, I do yell at you all the time, and you're still here." Of course, loud nagging was just another love language in the Finstock household. "And Mattie moved on because he was worried I would never even consider another relationship if he didn't." 

He leans his head against the fridge, feeling every bit of the long day and the weight of the anniversary of his love's death. "Not sure if I can even without his presence around, but I promised him I'd try."

He feels a slight chill that he associates with ghostly contact. "I know it's hard, Fozzie bear. I know you loved him greatly, even if I'll never understand why the two of you continued to call each other by your last names. It's not like you were fooling anyone. Anyone with eyes could see you loved each other."

Bobby snorts and turns to face his grandmother's ghost. "Some habits just don't die, Nana. And he thought it was hilarious that I would yell at him rather than my students. Fucker goaded me into doing it half the time." He shakes his head. "Mattie couldn't stand when I vented too much anger at the kids. Said they were under enough stress, and that we didn't want them to grow up to make our mistakes. Lil shitheads'll make their own mistakes. But better they think their coach a little crazy, and only a bit of a dick rather than a raging asshole."

He heard his nana snort. "I'm not so sure you've managed that one. I'm pretty sure they think you're both crazy and occasionally a raging asshole. But the majority of them seem to like you anyway, munchkin. So you can't be doing too bad."

"Now, you gonna tell me what else is worrying you? May not have access to all my gifts anymore, but I can still tell when your aura's off and something is worrying you."

Even on her ghostly features, his nana's stern, "I'm 100% done with your shit" face was a powerful thing. Forty-two years old, and he still caved like butter under a hot knife when faced with that look.

"I'm worried about Stilinski…" he shakes his head and moves to pace around the kitchen, hands emphasizing points as he talks, "He wasn't in class today, and even with his silent ghost impression lately, he's always come to class. I asked his so-called friends where he was and not a damn one of them could answer with anything more than a vague 'he's probably not feeling well today, Coach.'" His hand slams against the table and he shakes his head again.

"No shit, buncha wannabe Sherlocks. Kid's clearly not felt well since that whole mess last month. You can see him barely holding on, but not a damn one of his teachers knows how to reach him or help him. All of us afraid of making it worse, saying the wrong thing and losing him completely."

He looks up at his grandmother, his eyes anguished. "I'm afraid that us not doing anything may have also led to that, Nana. Stiles hasn't missed a class since he returned to school. And certainly he wouldn't miss one of the review periods before finals. Kid's a loudmouth and can't focus for shit, or at least he **was** a loudmouth. But he's smart, even if he can go off topic in the strangest ways."

"I'm sure you would know nothing about either of those abilities." Bobby could practically hear his grandmother's eye roll.

His lips quirk up into a grin "Well, it's one of the reasons that he's a favorite, though I wish I'd actually let him know that." His mouth twists down again, worry tightening his gut.

"You got a particular feeling about this, Bobby?" Nana's voice was sharp and concerned. "You're not sticking your head in the sand again are you?"

Bobby shakes his head, though he can't blame Nana for asking. He had been incredibly stubborn about his gifts for a long time, even now he tried to keep his head down and out of the supernatural bullshit that plagued the town.

"I know something's wrong. But it's just a vague sense of unease right now. Not helped by how sure his friends and family are that he's fine, just 'not feeling well' and 'taking some time to himself.' When I called the Sheriff's office to see if Stiles was sick or something, his dad just said he'd remind Stiles that he can't just skip class and hung up on me. As if all I wanted was assurance that the kid would be in my class! Fucker!" Bobby's foot smacked out against a cabinet.

"Oh, Fozzie bear…" His nana's voice was full of concern and a chill wracked his frame, suggesting that she'd tried to hug him. 

Bobby sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and leans his head on his hands. "I just don't know what to do, Nana. No one seems to know where he is." He picks his head up and looks up at his grandmother's ghost, hands once again gesturing to emphasize points. 

"Even went by his house and no one answered. His jeep was there though, and that boy loves that piece of junk. Hell, I even thought about breaking in, but, you know, Sheriff's house." Bobby shakes his head, unable to shake the feeling that something terrible has happened to one of his favorite students, and shivers, though he appreciates his nana trying to offer what comfort she can.

* * *

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary when you left for the station this morning?" Deputy McAllister's voice is professional and calm, but concern and sympathy radiate from her as she questions Noah in his own living room. Other station personnel are working throughout the house, and Noah's gut is clenching with worry, fear, and a fair bit of shame as he watches his home become a possible crime scene. 

His eyes close briefly and he takes a deep breath, thankful that the other deputies were letting Andy take point on questioning him. As one of the few old timers remaining at the office, she had known him and Stiles for years, including the dark years just after Claudia's death. If he had to lay his soul bare with one of his deputies and admit to his own failures, then he is glad it's her. And he is going to have to, because his son seems to be missing and he doesn't even know when it could have happened. 

"No…" Noah takes sighs and scrubs his face with his hands, "Jesus, Andy, I don't think I even went back into the kitchen after showering, just headed straight to the office."

"But you were in the kitchen before?" Andy's voice is sympathetic. Noah knows she had to have spotted the detritus of his drinking binge still sitting on the kitchen table. 

"Yeah," Noah massages the bridge of his nose, "Stiles was out studying and I...well I found an old photo album and, well, I started drinking. I figured Stiles would spend the night with Scott after studying for finals. They always used to do that and… god knows why I didn't think it would change even after everything that had happened." 

Noah's voice trails off and Andy waits patiently for him to continue. Noah stares over Andy's shoulder towards the kitchen. How he'd managed to miss that the back door to the utility room was ajar and his son's bookbag and clothes were strewn everywhere boggles even him, though part of him hopes intensely that whatever happened with Stiles occurred after he'd left for work that morning. 

He lets out a deep sigh and focuses on Andy again. "I don't remember much from last night, to be completely honest, Andy. Not my finest hour for sure." He mutters that last. 

"I know that I passed out at the table, cause that's where I came to this morning. Can't tell you whether the door was ajar then or not, nor can I tell you if Stiles was home."

"Well, you did say that you thought he was over at Scott's." Andy's voice was soft and her brown eyes all too understanding. And well, it's not as if Noah's the first law enforcement officer to struggle with substance abuse issues.

"Once I came to, I went upstairs to get some tylenol and grab a shower. Decided to head into the station even though you lot had tried to get me to take a day off. I just…" Noah shakes his head as he trails off.

"Couldn't stand the thought of staring at the walls and wondering where things went wrong and how you'd recover from them?" Andy's matter of fact phrasing holds a world of understanding. 

"Yeah, that." Noah snorts a little as he answers.

"When did you last see Stiles?"

"Yesterday morning as he was headed to school. He let me know there was a veggie wrap in the fridge for me to take for lunch. Boy will barely take two bites of his own meals these days, but still worries about mine."

"He's always loved you very much, Noah." 

A bitter snort escapes Noah. "I'm not always sure he should, Andy. Lord knows I feel like I've failed him lately. I want to help him, but I don't know how. So instead I wallowed and let him look after me, **again**. And now he may be missing and who knows what, and I…"

Noah slumps and covers his face, unable to withhold the tears that had been threatening since he'd been notified that his elderly neighbor had noticed his back door ajar and clothes oddly strewn about the back lawn heading towards the part of the preserve that abutted their yard. 

"We don't know for certain that he's missing."

Noah levels a flat look at Andy. "Just before Taggart told me about the possible break-in here, I got a call from one of Stile's teachers. He wasn't in class today either. His bag and clothes being here means that he had to have come home at some point. But he's clearly not here now, and nothing is missing. If he was going to run away he would have taken more supplies."

"It's possible that he got into your alcohol and wandered out into the preserve. He wouldn't be the first drunken streaker we'd ever encountered." Andy's voice is wry, and Noah tries to be hopeful that it could be something so simple, though no less dangerous considering the cold snap they were having. 

"We'll find him, Noah." Andy's hand on his shoulder was firm, "We've already got the Rangers out looking in the preserve, and some officers have been dispatched to talk to his friends. Despite the clothes strewn about, there aren't any signs of a struggle nor have we found any blood."

Noah closes his eyes as relief washes over him. He knows that it doesn't mean that everything is all clear, especially with the crazy world of supernatural bullshit that his son had gotten embroiled with. But it gives him a slight bit of hope, and he'll hold tight to that.

Andy's hand squeezes his shoulder once more. "You know we can't let you work this, Noah. If you're okay with me running things, I'll take point and direct the newbies. And I know you won't like it, but I'd like to assign at least one deputy to you while we get this sorted. You and Stiles have been through a lot recently, and I don't think you need to be alone right now. If you've got someone else you think would come stay with you, that's fine, but we don't want to leave you alone. And if you're not comfortable with me taking charge of this case, we could probably call in Sheriff Markham to help. She knows we're short staffed as is, and it's not like we haven't offered mutual aid to her in the past."

Noah reaches up and gives Andy's hand a reassuring squeeze. "I get it, Andy. And you're right that I probably shouldn't be alone right now." His current headache and hazy memories from too much alcohol tell him that she's absolutely right about that. "And I'm perfectly fine with you working this case. If you feel you need Sherriff Markham's help, you call her."

Andy nods and turns to go check in with the other deputies, but pauses a moment and looks back at Noah, voice soft and concerned. "You know, you aren't alone in your struggles, Noah. A group of us meet up at the Unitarian Church on Friday evenings. You'd be more than welcome to join us. Everyone there understands discretion too. Just think about it, okay?"

Noah nods, throat too tight to respond. It was past time to get his head on straight and ask for help fighting his demons.

* * *

"Damn panic attacks, I suppose I should be glad something didn't come along and eat me while I was passed out." Stiles snarks to himself. Though he does wonder if it wouldn't have just been easier to not wake up. At least then he wouldn't be lost in the preserve as a fucking fox. 

He'd almost panicked a third time when he woke up, but managed to get his breathing under control this time. He carefully trots through the forest trying to spot any familiar landmark, but it's harder than he thought it would be. He would never have thought that the world would look so different from a smaller vantage point. Plus it's easy to get distracted by the strange smells and all the sounds he can suddenly pick up. He swears he heard a squirrel fart just a few minutes ago. At least he thinks it was a squirrel from the chittering noises. 

He pauses in the bushes and stares at the trail in front of him. He's fairly certain this is one of the main running trails, so if he follows it he should find his way back to town eventually. Question is does he want to go back to town. He has no idea how he turned into a fox, and he's honestly not sure any of his friends, if they were still even his friends after everything, would recognize him, let alone help him. 

Scottie would of course help any distressed animal he came across, but he'd probably just call the park rangers to deal with a wild fox found acting strangely in town. And he's pretty sure just walking up to one of the pack would be considered acting strangely for a fox. His luck they'd think he had rabies or something, and he'd end up getting shot by one of the rangers.

He supposes he could try figuring out a way to get a message to his Dad, but he's not sure his dad would believe it. They don't have the best track record there, especially after the past couple of years. Stiles whines a bit as he considers all the lies he felt were necessary at the time. Some days he wishes he could go back and tell himself not to go out looking for a body in the woods. But he knows he probably wouldn't have listened. Damn his curiosity and lack of impulse control. 

He sighs and decides to at least follow the trail. It's not like he has any better ideas right now. He'll have to keep an ear out for people using the trail, but there were plenty of places he could hide if needed. Of course, he forgot that where there are humans there is also often all kinds of trash left about. 

He curses when he feels a sharp stabbing pain on his left hand, or what is normally his left hand. He has a hard time calling it his "paw." He's not supposed to be a fox, damn it. It's his fucking hand. He picks it up and sees the piece of glass sticking out of it. He tries to carefully get it out with his teeth, but only manages to push it in a bit further. 

He slumps down. He's so fucking tired of everything. Maybe he should just give up and be done with it all. He's in so much pain and so miserable that he misses the sounds of someone walking up the trail. His entire body jerks when he hears the loud voice exclaim "Well, shit, no wonder you missed class. Fucking hell, what a mess."

Stiles whines since he jostled his injured paw and it fucking hurts. He also has to wonder if he didn't manage to hit his head, or if he's hallucinating from hunger because he's pretty sure that is his Coach removing his jacket and mumbling to himself. 

The jacket drops down to cover him, and Stiles shakes his head trying to dislodge it. But before he can, he feels hands carefully picking him up.

"Don't you dare bite me, Bilinski. I'm trying to help you okay. Just got to get you home, so I can look you over and then maybe call someone to try to sort this shit out. But not that vet McCall works for. Dude's shady as hell, wouldn't trust him to care for my nana's dead cat."

Stiles goes limp with shock and confusion, because this is most definitely Coach Finstock, and somehow Coach knows it's him. Maybe he got in an accident on his way home last night and this is all some terrible coma dream. Although with the gentle hands holding him snuggly wrapped in a warm jacket and Coach's voice washing over him, he feels surprisingly safe. Maybe things will be alright after all, even if he's not sure how.


	2. Put All My Pieces Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone who has left kudos and comments. Those always bring joy to a writer's heart. I'm sorry it has taken me so long to get more done on this story and hope that everyone is as well as they can be right now. 
> 
> You may notice a change to the story title, I realized after I posted initially that I'd mistyped the title which was supposed to be "Hanging On" instead of "Holding On." For those that are curious, the title comes from U2's _Red Hill Mining Town_.

_And I'll put all my pieces back together  
Where they belong, and I'll say  
"I'm a mess, I'm a mess, oh God, I'm a mess"  
\--Noah Kahan, "Mess"_

* * *

"Awooo, who's that I see walking in these woods," Bobby sighs and hits pause on his shuffled playlist.

"I already know I need to find Little Red Riding Hood; now maybe give me some idea on how to find him?" He grumbles as he presses next. 

He chuckles as he recognizes the strains of Nancy Sinatra's _These Boots Are Made for Walking_ coming through his ear buds. "Looks like I gotta take a walk. Now to figure out where I need to go walking," Bobby hit next again.

This time it takes him a few seconds to place the song as it has a long musical opening. "Looks like I'm going for a walk in the preserve." He lets The Cure's _A Forest_ keep playing and he gets his shoes on.

His nana had taught him early on that anything could be used as a divination tool, especially for those with the sight. And Bobby'd always had really good luck with music. He could refine his feelings and brief flashes of events with other means, but music was usually the clearest guide he could get, maybe because it was such a huge part of their lives growing up. There was always music playing and dancing happening in the Finstock household. And using music for divination got even easier after digital music took off because instead of feeling his way through his record collection and later cd collection, he could load all his songs into one list and hit shuffle. 

He let the playlist continue as he grabbed his jacket and set out for the preserve, thankful he'd had his usual habit of attempting dinner on this anniversary at an early hour so there was just a bit of light left in the day. His gut would help him find which trail he needed to be on. His playlist cycled through _Rescue Me_ , _With a Little Help from My Friends_ , and _Meet in the Middle_ while he followed his instincts and jogged along the trail. 

He was a little confused by the sudden switch to _The Fox_ by Nickel Creek. Stiles was a mischievous little shit, so maybe it was just another reference that it was Stiles he needed to find? But then he spotted a flash of red and white down the trail. And as he slowed his steps and focused he could see the overlay of a distressed Stilinski hovering over the fox. 

"Well, shit, no wonder you missed class. Fucking hell, what a mess." Bobby shrugs out of his jacket, and continues on slightly softer, "Huh, Huh, that was apparently a very literal reference. Wonders never cease. God damn magic and supernatural shenanigans." 

He's not so sure how aware Stilinski is in that form, and well hurt creatures are known to lash out. So he starts by dropping his jacket on the poor fox, and then, he figures he better let Stiles know he knows it's him, just in case Stiles is aware at all. Then he makes sure to tell him not to bite him, cause that would suck. He tucks the jacket around the fox and carefully lifts him up, mindful of the fact that the fox seems to be injured. Then he keeps up a stream of babble and half mumbled songs all the back to his house. Because if it's one thing he knows is that when all seems lost, it helps to know you aren't alone.

* * *

Stiles is now at least 98% certain that this isn't a dream. For one, he doesn't recall ever truly feeling pain in his dreams, at least not in any sort of persistent way. He's felt the **impression** of pain certainly, but the current throbbing from his hand...paw...appendage is sharp and persistent. He can't help but let out little whines from time to time as he's jostled, though Coach is being way more gentle than Stiles would have ever expected from the loud and often abrupt man. 

That's the other thing that has Stiles convinced this isn't a dream. No matter how crazy and weird his dreams got, Coach wouldn't be the person he'd imagine would show up to rescue him. It probably says a lot that after a few years of dealing with monsters of the week and supernatural showdowns straight out of a horror movie that this is one of the most surreal experiences he's ever had. 

He blinks a bit as he's gently carried into what he assumes must be Coach's house. 

"Yo, Nana, you and Pops did some animal rescue when you were younger right? You've got to be a better resource than that damn vet." 

Stiles jumped a bit in surprise at the unexpected yell, though he couldn't jump much as Coach still held him pretty securely. His ears twitched, but even with his new enhanced hearing he couldn't hear anyone else in the house. Maybe they'd gone out? He was even more confused when Coach continued to speak to someone else and tried to recall if maybe Finstock had called someone with voice commands while they were walking back.

"Yeah, this is my missing student, Nan. Not sure how he became a fox or how we'll get him back to his normal shape, but the first order of business is making sure he's not severely injured. Poor guy was in some serious pain when I found him." 

There was a pause as if Coach was waiting for a reply, and Stiles kept straining his new ears to see if he could pick up the other voice, but got nothing. 

"Yeah, hopefully it's not too serious. I'd hate to try to find a reliable wildlife doc that was also in the know on magic and shit, preferably one who wasn't shady and cryptic as hell." 

Stiles couldn’t help shifting a bit in Coach's arms as he tried to figure out just who the hell Coach was talking to.

"It's alright, Stilisnki. We're gonna get you sorted out somehow, first thing though is making sure you aren't too badly injured. Then gotta figure out if you have any awareness or not. Not sure that you'll be able to help sort this out, even if you are still aware of what shape you are supposed to be, but it'll make taking care of you a bit easier in the meantime."

Coach's voice was gentler than he usually heard it. He carefully set Stiles down on the kitchen counter, "Although now that I think about it, it might be best to see if you've got any awareness of who you are first." 

He leaves his jacket wrapped around Stiles and steps back a bit, one hand settling on his hip and his head tilting. Stiles just blinks up at him for a minute, his own head tilting as he watches his coach.

"Well shit, I guess just go with the most basic and obvious to start with. If you can understand me, Stiles, nod your head." 

Stiles very carefully nods his head several times. 

"Well that's promising. Should probably ask one more question just to be sure…" Finstock trails off a bit before he rallies and looks Stiles right in the eyes with a slight smirk, "Is your first name pronounced Mikzeeslaw?"

Stiles isn't sure how well the absolute disdain he feels for that butchering of his name shows on his vulpine features, but he can feel his nose scrunching up and he shakes his head side to side in denial before glaring at Finstock. 

"Calm yourself, Little Red, just wanted to make sure it wasn't a fluke that you nodded to my first question. Figured something that would get a negative reaction might be the best way to test it." Coach chuckled a bit and made a soothing gesture as he stepped closer again. 

"Now that I know you are aware and fully yourself...well at least fully aware of who you are even if you are in the wrong fucking body, I'm a little less concerned about you biting me when I try to figure out if you're injured." 

Finstock pauses and gives Stiles a stern look, "And you better not bite me, Stilinski, you hear me." He gestures to his ears and then back to Stiles.

Stiles gives a little yip of assent and nods back at his coach. He'll take all the allies he can get, crazy as they may be or not. He carefully lifts his left paw and whines a bit at Finstock, it seems the best way to show his coach where his injury actually is.

"Alright, Stiles, that is helpful, we'll start there." Coach very gently takes the paw and tilts his head. "Need more light, damn it. Too bad you don't have working hands still, Nana. But I guess I'll have to go fetch my headlamp myself. Stilinski, you stay right there and don't move, okay. I'll be right back." 

Stiles watches Coach leave the room and peers around not seeing anyone else. The kitchen is warmly decorated with bright colors and pictures stuck to the fridge with an odd assortment of magnets. It's wild and chaotic and pretty much exactly what he'd expect of his Coach, though the frilly apron hanging on the hook by the pantry door was perhaps a bit strange even for Finstock. He shivers a bit as the air around him gets a bit colder. Maybe Coach forgot to turn the heat on? 

Before he can try to snuggle back down into Coach's jacket though, the man himself is bouncing back into the room with one of those headlamps that nighttime runners and hikers wear sitting snugly on his forehead. And a first aid kit in his other hand.

"Let's try this again." Finstock sets the first aid kit on the counter near Stiles and pops it open, then reaches up and flips the headlamp on. Stiles shivers again as the cold seems to deepen.

"Might want to scoot back a bit, Nana, I'm used to the cold spots you can bring with you, but poor Stilinski isn't and the kid doesn't have enough meat on his bones to insulate him at all." Coach has turned his head towards the air just over his shoulder, clearly talking to someone that Stiles can't see before turning back and addressing Stiles directly. Weirdly, the sharp cold had eased up as soon as Coach started talking. 

"We really need to get you to eat better, kid, you're all skin and bones. But first things first," Coach carefully pulls up the paw to look at Stiles's injury more closely, "looks like a small piece of glass. Damn, that's got to hurt like a bitch." 

Stiles wants to complain that the shard impaling his paw is not that small, but he guesses size is a bit relative at the moment. He watches Coach grab some gauze, nonstick tape like the kind they use when you give blood, and a jar of some kind of ointment and sets them aside before grabbing a pair of tweezers.

"Yeah, Nana, I think I can get that out on my own, then it's just putting some of that cream you taught me to make on it and bandaging it up. And don't you fret, Stilinski, my Nan had a real talent with herbs and this stuff will fix you right up. Did me a world of wonder after that arrow graze I got a couple of months ago. Totally healed up now."

Coach is smiling at him as he gently holds him steady and carefully works to pull the glass out of his paw. Stiles tries to hold still, but can't help the whine that escapes him as he wishes he could just melt through the floor. Coach was only injured because of him, because he wasn't strong enough to fight off the Nogitsune. 

"Awww, I know it hurts, little red, but that ointment will take the sting out of it I promise. Then we'll get you settled down, get some water and maybe some food in you. I've got some cooked chicken breast in the fridge that should be alright for you. Then maybe get you all cozy and we can both get some sleep and tackle the bigger problems of getting you back to your normal shape tomorrow. And after that maybe we can talk about why you're hiding out as a fox and why you haven't been eating or taking care of yourself."

Coach is quick and competent in his movements as he finishes the first aid including carefully cleaning Stiles leg and paw before bandaging it, he may not have a lot of experience with wild animals, but Stiles knows he's done his fair share of patching up his players on the field and it shows here as well.

Coach steps back and looks over his work. "It'll do. Now let's get the rest of you cleaned up a bit. Can't give you a bath with your injuries, but we can at least freshen you up a bit. It's a damn good thing I never got around to cleaning out the junk drawers." Finstock chuckles as he pulls out an array of pet brushes and sets about gently brushing dirt, leaves, and tangles out of Stiles fur.

Stiles can't help but melt at the firm but gentle pressure of the brush through his fur, zoning as Coach's voice continues to chatter on about small things. He can't remember the last time someone had brushed his hair for him. His mom used to comb it out after baths and would play with it while she sang him to sleep, but that was so long ago now the memories were a bit blurred. Since she died, he had kept it buzzed because it was just easier. This isn't his mom, but it feels nice to be cared for in the same way. His dad tries so hard, but he's a busy man and Stiles knows he's a lot to manage on a good day. 

Maybe it would be better to stay this way, Stiles doesn't know. Everything's so difficult right now, and if he could go back in time and stop himself from going out to the woods to find half of a body he probably would. Of course, knowing his luck he might still have gotten dragged into this supernatural mess anyway and probably been even less prepared for it. 

He's pulled out of his gloomy thoughts when Coach carefully lifts up each of his unbandaged paws to wipe them off with a damp cloth. 

"There we go, Lil Red, much better. Now let's get some food into you."

He carefully carries Stiles over to the table and sets him down before bringing back a small plate with shredded chicken breast, and a handful of berries. 

"Nana says that foxes are apparently omnivores, much like humans. While they eat a lot of protein (mostly rodents and such), they also eat fruit and will scavenge for household leftovers in urban areas. So this ought to be okay for you. I know you aren't normally a fox, but I'm not sure how your current body would react to curly fries, even if I had some."

Stiles is bizarrely touched that Coach would even remember his fondness for curly fries. He's starting to realize that as much as his teacher tries to act like a complete hardass, he's actually kind of a softie. Still crazy as all get out, mind you, but a much bigger marshmallow than Stiles would have suspected. 

Finstock continues to tell him about his Nana and Pops and how they apparently rescued wildlife in their younger days, long before they moved to Beacon Hills. Stiles is only half listening but his attention is captured when Finstock says "Pops moved on not too long after his death, ready to find out what might come next, but Nana apparently worries about me too much. So she sticks around to nag me, which is probably a good thing cause otherwise I may have had to take you to that shady vet McCall works with."

And holy shit, his coach can see ghosts! That's what the cold spot was earlier, and who Finstock's been talking to this whole time. He wonders what else Finstock can do, or if he's supernatural in any other way and for the first time in a while he wishes he could actually ask some questions. And he must have been staring, because Coach pauses and looks at him. "I know I'm fascinating, kid, but finish your food. Seriously, skin and bones, I swear."

So Stiles eats, drinks some of the water Coach had put down, and listens to his teacher spin stories about his Nana. He can't help but yawn as he finishes his meal, the events of the day catching up to him. He blinks sleepily up at Finstock as he scoops him up off the table.

"I've got an old cat bed that you can use. I'll set it up on my bed, that way if you wake up and need to go out you can wake me up easily. And we best not ever speak of this when it's over, got that, kid. Can't have others thinking I'm a pushover or anything."

Stiles lets out a small yip, since he can't say "Sure thing, Coach" and finds himself deposited in a fluffy nest made of blankets and a cozy cat bed. As he's fading into sleep he thinks he hears the coach say something about the dead being great gossips and asking Nana if she can get him the location of that Hale boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write for fun and relaxation. All mistakes are my own, and I'm generally fine with finding them on my own. Many thanks to twistedamusement for pre-reading, cheerleading and support, as well as numerous others on the Steter Network who are always so very supportive and encouraging.


	3. Between Darkness and Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. I've been finding it incredibly hard to write lately, as I'm sure many folks have. This chapter is not terribly long, but we get some more Bobby and Stiles time, and we finally find out which Hale Bobby was talking about. I hope that you are all as well as can be. <3 <3 <3

_Sometimes you can barely tell the difference  
Between darkness and light.  
Do you have faith  
In what we believe?  
\--Jane Siberry, "It Can't Rain All the Time" _

Stiles feels his ears twitch as he returns to awareness, which is a very odd sensation though he's getting a bit more used to his new body and it's odd differences. He's not entirely sure that is a good thing.

He blinks around at the room trying to figure out what woke him. He is surprised that he actually feels rested. He doesn't remember the last time he actually slept through the night, and if he had any nightmares they didn't follow him into the waking world, nor did they wake him up. He notices that it must still be pretty early as the sky outside is still dark.

He does figure out what must have woken him though. There's a slowly brightening lamp on the nightstand by Coach's head and it's giving off a soft chiming noise that is also creeping up in volume the longer it's on. It's the weirdest alarm clock he's ever seen, and certainly not what he would have imagined Coach to have if he'd ever thought about what the man was like in his off time. He'd have thought his alarm would be as loud and obnoxious as the man himself. He's starting to realize that there's a lot more to Finstock than what they see at school.

He's trying to figure out if he should go poke Coach to get him up, but Finstock groans and stretches, sitting up and fumbling for the off button on the alarm. 

"Ugh, why'd you have to go and choose a career that requires you get up at the ass crack of dawn, Bobby?" Finstock squints at Stiles, "Learn from me Bilinski and think about this shit before you agree to a job, okay? Now, unless you have an urgent need to go out, I'm gonna take care of business myself, and then we can figure the rest of this shit out."

Stiles is content to just stay in the warm nest he had, so he just blinks at Coach and yawns. Finstock takes this as agreement to the plan and wanders off to what Stiles assumes is the in-suite bathroom. Stiles doses while he listens to Finstock mumble various things and get ready for the day, it's been so long since he felt comfortable just lazing about. Maybe this whole fox thing isn't so bad. He wonders if Coach would be willing to keep him if he stayed as a fox, maybe he's less annoying that way. Though when he thinks about it, Coach usually seems more amused by his antics than annoyed. He's pulled out of his musings when Finstock crouches down by the bed.

"Alright, Lil Red, let's see if that paste did the trick." Coach gently removes the bandages from around Stiles paw and carefully inspects the injury. Stiles himself is startled to realize that it doesn't hurt at all anymore, even when Finstock puts the slightest bit of pressure on it. Finstock then grins at him widely.

"Knew that would do the trick. Nana's poultices are just the best. Thank god she pestered me non-stop to learn to make them myself. Sure does come in handy sometimes. I'd use it on you young idiots at games, but then you lot would probably take that to mean you should pull more stupid stunts rather than less. The 'wolves on the team don't need any additional encouragement on that front, I swear. Idiots all of them."

Stiles is starting to wonder if the man ever stops talking. He knows he can't really throw stones on that front, having used the technique to distract and overwhelm people for years. But it's really entertaining to see from this perspective. 

Finstock continues to chatter as he carefully scoops Stiles up and takes him out to the back-yard. 

"You've probably got to relieve yourself by this point. If I had any littler I'd try to at least give you the dignity of a litter box, but I gave the box and litter to a local shelter after Gargamel passed. Miss that cranky little fucker, let me tell you. But haven't had the heart to get another cat. Anyway, I'll turn my back and give you some privacy. Just let me know when you're done, kid, okay?"

Coach nods at him and then turns around and faces back towards the house, careful not to be in front of any glass so he wouldn't see Stiles in the reflection. Stiles appreciates his approach. It was embarrassing enough to have to relieve himself out in the open like this. 

"So, Nana, you have any luck finding an address for me?" 

Stiles couldn't help trying to listen for the response, even though he now knew he was unlikely to hear it. He thinks darkly that it's probably best he can't hear ghosts. There are probably plenty that would want to torment him at this point. As curious as he is about his coach's medium abilities, part of him is terrified that some ghost will tell Coach the truth and yet another person will be unable to look at him. He's not sure he could handle that, especially since Coach has been so surprisingly caring and gentle with him. But surely if any spirits were going to tattle to the one person who could hear them, they would have done so already. And Coach wouldn't be so caring if he agreed that Stiles was a monster. He'd have left Stiles in the forest for sure. 

Stiles is pulled out of his dark thoughts by a familiar sharp whistle. 

"Yo, Lil Red, Nan says you should stop moping and do your business, we'll get you sorted in no time, okay? And whatever's got you so down that Nana is ready to try to scoop you up and cuddle you, ghostly insubstantiality be damned, we'll get that sorted out too. But don't be surprised if you feel a sudden chill. Nana just walked past me with that 'I'm gonna hug someone look on her face.' Be mindful of the boy, Nana, he probably gets cold super easy."

Coach chuckles at whatever his grandmother's response was and Stiles does indeed feel a brief bitter cold wrap around him then move away. His eyes mist up a bit since he can't remember the last time someone, outside of Coach, really hugged him. Well, his dad would wrap him in his arms after a nightmare when he was home, but things were so strained between them lately and his dad was at work more often than not these days. Stiles finished up what he was doing and trotted back to Finstock.

"And hey, on the bright side I figured out who to ask to look after you while I try to teach dunderheads economics. Thankfully the Peacock still likes to live comfortably and happened to move into Old Man Foggerty's building. Man's been dead a decade but still obsesses over the tenants in his building." Coach shakes his head as he scoops Stiles back up and wanders into the kitchen. 

"Never thought I'd be grateful for the dearly departed gossip chain, but I guess those who still have business and attachments here have to get their entertainment somewhere."

He sets some more chicken and bits of fruit and veggies down for Stiles, grabs a cup of coffee and a breakfast bar, and continues to putter about the kitchen packing some food and other odd things up and sticking them in a reusable grocery bag chattering the entire time about pranks that the dead apparently play on each other. 

Stiles feels his body relaxing a bit while he watches Finstock and eventually he realizes the food in front of him smells pretty good and starts eating. However, when Coach leaves the room and comes back with a pet carrier, Stiles glares at him, tail bristling.

"I know it's not a dignified way to travel, kid, but it won't be for long and I can't easily sneak you into a building if I'm holding you in my arms. Foggerty's fancy condos may allow pets, but you can bet the security guard will balk at me carrying a fox around. As it is, I'm gonna have to bullshit my way past him. Thankfully, Rosa Evans lives there and we meet up every now and then to have coffee and bitch about students." He wags his finger at Stiles.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, you hormone rattled hooligans give us headaches and we have every right to bitch to each other."

Stiles sighs and enters the carrier, which has been padded out with a cushion for comfortable travel. He curls up and settles in for the ride, listening to Finstock ramble and sing along with the radio. He finds it surprisingly soothing.

* * *

"What the..." Peter mutters, setting his coffee cup down and moving towards the front door where someone is knocking rather insistently. He puzzles over who would be bothering him at 7 in the morning on a Friday. Derek and Cora left to travel together, working on getting to know each other again away from the stresses and disasters so easily found in Beacon Hills. He isn't sure if they would head to South America where Cora's adoptive pack was, or maybe check in with Alpha Ito about joining her pack or finding another to take them in. He had made sure they had the number of several reliable alphas, including Alpha Ito, as well as a few in-the-know therapists. He's had most of a year to update his knowledge about both topics, even with trying to help Derek and the puppies with the various disasters since his return to life he's had enough time to get started on reestablishing himself.

So he knows it's not his niece and nephew on the other side of the door. And he knows that none of the overgrown puppies left in Beacon Hills know where he lives, nor would they likely ever knock on his door unless it was to run him out of town. Now, Stiles...well he wouldn't be surprised at all if his favorite human had found his apartment and decided to check up on him to be sure he wasn't up to any trouble. But what little he could scent didn't smell quite like Stiles, there were hints that were similar--petrichor and cinnamon--but there were other scents as well that muddled the overall scent pile. And the heartbeats he could hear were not fast enough to be Stiles's, which often sounded a bit fast for a human. And one heartbeat sounded more like an animal's than a human's.

He supposes it could be one of his neighbors with an emergency, there are even several that have pets. It was rare, but it did happen occasionally especially once he started to re-establish himself in the community. Thankfully the Hales had been wealthy enough that a few comments about being quietly moved to a specialty clinic overseas, one that had incredibly advanced plastic surgeons, and a tragic series of computer glitches and misfiled paperwork had led to him being declared missing where enough to satisfy most of the town gossips. He has, of course, made sure there was sufficient paperwork to back it all up. 

He doesn't bother using the peephole since he couldn't smell any gunpowder or wolfsbane, and if they had enough magic to cover both of those scents then they'd be able to get in whether he opened the door or not. 

"Peacock! Thank god, I was worried maybe Nana was wrong and you weren't home. Should know that the dead are usually reliable, but then again, everything can be hit and miss in Beacon Hills. Here, take this." 

Peter blinks down at the cloth bag full of various pet gear and food that's been shoved into his arms, having stepped back in surprise at the exuberant shout that greeted him upon opening the door. Bobby Finstock, the Economics and PhysEd teacher at the high school, had managed to barge into his apartment. He narrowed his eyes at the nickname he'd not heard since he'd used to visit Derek at the high school when he was home visiting from college. 

"It's Peter, as you well know. Now, what are you doing here, and how, pray tell, did you manage to locate my apartment?" Peter's eye catches on the pet carrier in Finstock's hands and the strange chittering noise coming from inside. "More importantly, what the hell have you brought into my apartment." 

"You still parade around displaying your plumage for all to see, Peacock," Finstock makes a vague gesture at Peter's v-neck and well-worn, but close-fitting, jeans and then nods as if that settles the matter before barrelling on with his explanation. Peter can feel his eyebrows rising higher in consternation and puzzlement the longer Finstock talks. 

"Now I've got to go try to make sure a bunch of miscreants and dunderheads pass their finals and someone needs to look after Bilinski here. Can't exactly take a fox to class with me after all, and I am not leaving him with that damnable vet. His so-called friends are among those I have to shoehorn knowledge into, and I'm not so sure about his father yet. Don't know if he even knows about all this supernatural shit. But you, for all that you like to act like you're a Bond villain in the making, are actually a decent guy." Finstock throws up his hand in a stop motion and then proceeded to poke Peter in the chest for emphasis as he continued, "Uh uh, no, you don't get to protest that. You always looked after your nieces and nephew, despite trying to appear as the cool uncle/older brother type. And I *know* you and your pack did a hell of a lot in protecting the town. You may have been a little off the rails when you first woke up for the coma, but I've been assured that death sorted you out quite nicely. Add in that you've got a shit load of knowledge about the supernatural and probably more contacts than I do, at least live ones, then you make the best bet for keeping an eye on Lil Red here."

With that, Finstock reaches down and opens the pet carrier, before leaning down to look in at whatever creature is inside. "Thanks for riding Finstock Air, Lil Red. I know the ride wasn't exactly the smoothest but was a heck of a lot easier to sneak you into the building this way. I know you hung out with the other Hale boy, but I don't know if you know this one. Still, he's decent people and should be good company for your snarky ass. There's lots of food and snacks and stuff for you in the bag I brought, so you should be set until I can get back this evening."

Finstock then stands up and dusts his hands off, "Now, I'm off to try to teach those who don't want to learn. You two play nice and look after each other. And if he gives you too much shit, Stilinski, chew a hole in one of his fancy sweaters. And Hale, Lil Red here best be in one piece when I get back this evening!" 

The door is closing behind Finstock before Peter is even remotely done processing the whirlwind of information that had just been thrown at him. The smell of petrichor and cinnamon fills his nose, and he finds himself staring down at a red fox that he is certain is laughing at him.

When the crazy coach's words finally sink in, his jaw drops a bit in shock. He tries to recover his calm, nothing-can-faze-me facade, but his voice still conveys a bit of wonder as he asks, "Stiles?!" 

The fox nearly falls over, tail wagging a bit and funny little chittering barks fill the air. The little shit is never going to let him live this down. 


	4. Kick at the Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to DarkJediQueen for staring up a wip writing game on the Just Write discord server, that fun little game is what helped get this written much more quickly than it likely would have been otherwise.
> 
> And thank you to all who have left comments and kudos. It's very much appreciated.

_But nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight  
Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight  
"Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by Barenaked Ladies_

Bobby leans against the elevator wall relieved to be the only living person in it for the moment; he could talk to Nana and Mr. Foggarty without pretending he was on the phone. 

"Don't you dare glare at me, Nana, I need to run another errand before I head to the school and if I gave Peter even a minute to ask questions we'd have been there all day trying to sort this out. If I could have afforded to call into work, I would have, but today's the last day before finals start and we're already short-staffed at the school."

"Humph, you have a point, Trouble, but you could have at least given the man some info and not just dropped that poor boy and run."

Bobby grins at the utterly done look his Nana is throwing him, while Old Man Foggerty just looks amused. "I'm not so cruel to get that man's curiosity aroused and then dash without leaving any clues. I like living after all. I left him a note, gave him my cell number as well. I can at least check my texts and stuff throughout the day."

Nana side-eyes him, but nods before asking, "So where else did you need to go before work? Need any of us to tag along?"

"You wouldn't happen to know anyone who could answer the question of whether our esteemed Sheriff is in the know or not? Otherwise, I guess I could just drop by the station and ask, but I'd prefer not to end up in the loony bin and it's not like my gifts are easy to demonstrate to non-believers. Damn werewolves are lucky in that regard."

Bobby fishes a BlueTooth earpiece out of his pocket and puts it on so that he can continue his conversation without raising too many eyebrows. Bobby is fortunate that the dead who chose to stick around as true spirits tended to not only be attached emotionally to people or places but also happened to be the biggest gossips ever seen. Apparently, gossip helped keep the afterlife interesting or something. It could be hard to predict who would stick around and who wouldn't though. And a good many who did, end up moving on when they get frustrated that they can't interact with their loved ones anymore. 

There were also those who stuck around because they didn't realize they were dead or needed closure of some sort. Bobby and others like him tried to help them as best they could, even if he'd fought his gifts for a long time. But still, he hopes that someone close to the Sheriff had stuck around because it'd be a lot less awkward to talk to them than it would be talking to the man himself. 

"Well, there's that young deputy...oh what on earth is her name?" The ghost of the old man taps his translucent fingers against his chin, and his use of the word young didn't help narrow it down at all. Everyone was young to Old Mr. Foggerty. "Something to do with earth now that I think about it."

"You mean Tara Graeme? I think she used to teach before she decided to become a deputy. Nice young woman." Nana replies, "Think she still hangs around the station for the most part."

Her form shimmers and disappears, and then returns maybe a minute later. "She is at the station and is more than willing to chat with you, Munchkin-mine. Said she'd meet you at your office if you like. Now that's sorted, I think Fergus and I will go keep an eye on the young pups upstairs. Have fun teaching those hoodlums of yours, and try to remember to eat some lunch."

There is a soft chill as Nana leans over and kisses his cheek, and another as Mr. Foggery pats his shoulder. Then both are gone in a blink. 

Bobby shakes his head, grins, and hurries on to where his car is parked. He's been able to see the dead and talk to them his whole life, but there will always be things about being dead that he doesn't know the answer to. There are just some things that the living aren't meant to know, even those who are as connected to the dead as Bobby. For now, he's better served focusing on getting to school, pumping Tara for info on the Sheriff, and getting through a day of teaching while planning what to do next. 

"You got this, Bobby. Just another day in the life, right? Right." With a nod and a drum roll on the steering wheel, he heads over to the high school.

* * *

Peter shakes his head at the still laughing fox rolling around on his floor.

"Well, I'm glad I could amuse you, sweetheart. As curious as I am about how you got into this form and how you ended up with Coach Finstock, I guess it's rather hard for you to tell me right now. Wonder if you could manage to peck out an answer on a keyboard?"

The last is muttered more to himself as he moves to set the bag of things down on a table. Carefully tucked into the top is an envelope with Peacock scrawled across the front of the envelope. Peter's lips quirk up as he rolls his eyes. He has to hand it to Finstock, the man is persistent and creative in his use of nicknames. And crazy like a fox, all exuberance and mischief used for misdirection as well as just for fun. Shaking his head, he opens the envelope and unfolds the note inside curious about what additional bombs might get dropped on him.

_"Peacock,_

_Long story short, my favorite student seems to have become a fox. I'd say don't tell him he's my favorite, but honestly, I think the kid could use some positive affirmation along with some feeding up. I just wish I had spoken up before now, but thankfully the impending disaster was him being a fox and injuring himself and not me finding his body in the woods like I feared. And before you fret and go check him for injuries, he got some glass stuck in his paw but is all fixed up now. You can thank me later._

_My gut says that you two already know each other, so you shouldn't have any problem looking after the kid. I know he's gotten mixed up with wolves and other supernatural nonsense, and considering your family and that I've seen Derek hanging around, I figured you must be involved as well. And since you and Bilinski are two sarcastic peas in a pod, I figured you'd be happy to look after him for me. I do need to figure out if his dad is aware of things that go bump in the night, and am going to try to figure that out before school. Also need to figure out if he's one of the reasons the kid's looked like death warmed over lately. That will factor into how we handle this shitshow._

_But anyway, no idea why our very own little red riding hood is now a fox. But I was able to establish that he's fully aware, even if he's not in the right shape. I was more focused on patching him up and feeding him than trying to suss out any answers last night. Though he may not know how he got this way either. I got a few ideas of folks we can call for help, and I'm sure you will have a few too. Between the two of us, we should be able to rustle up someone who isn't a cryptic asshole. But as they say, we'll burn that bridge when we get to it._

_I'll be trying to cram knowledge into unwilling minds for most of the day, but will check my cell for messages and texts throughout the day. The number is below. Maybe check in every now and then so I know you're both still among the living. Though Nan will probably get word to me if anything happens. Knowing her she'll stick around and keep an eye on you two._

_Anyway, text me or something._

_Thanks,  
Finstock"_

Peter is unsure of who Nan is or how she would be keeping an eye on them since he doesn't since anyone else in the apartment besides him and Stiles. He feels a tug on his pant leg and looks down to see Stiles tilting his head at him in curiosity, looking pointedly between the letter in his hand and Peter. 

"I take it you want me to read the letter aloud?" Peter smirked a bit at the little fox at his feet, who yipped at him and then bounced up to put his front paws on Peter's thigh as if saying "get on with it already."

"Alright already, I'll read it. But why don't we sit down first? If I have to read Finstock's crazy a second time through, I want to be comfortable. Can I pick you up? Might be easiest for getting us both settled on the couch."

Stiles nodded his assent. Peter was surprised that he did not flinch when Peter reached down to pick him up. But then again, for all their verbal sparring Stiles had not really acted suspicious of him for some time now. Though, Peter had not been around as much since they ousted the Nogitsune too busy sorting out some personal things and making sure Derek and Cora would have some support available should they choose to utilize it. He and the other Hales had assumed Scott and the others would look after their friend, but he's starting to realize that may have been a very foolish assumption. Seems like they may have given the so-called True Alpha too much credit when it came to caring about someone he called his brother. 

He gently carries Stiles and the letter over to the couch, leaving the bag on the table. Once settled he releases Stiles and is somewhat surprised when the little fox lays down next to him with his head resting on his thigh amber eyes glued to Peter's face.

"Well, first of all, you should know that you have the dubious honor of being Finstock's favorite student. But since I know you would prefer to hear it in his words, here we go."

Peter couldn't help but let one hand rest against soft red and chestnut fur, fingers curling in a gentle scratching motion without conscious thought as he did his best Finstock impression while reading the letter. His wolf had claimed Stiles as pack just after they'd first met, and nothing had changed that designation. A sudden shift in form certainly wasn't going to change it now. And maybe Stiles might come to see him as pack in return.

* * *

On a normal day, Stiles would say that being told he is Finstock's favorite student would, hands down, be the weirdest part of the day. But normal had taken a detour quite some time back. He would have also thought that Coach was pulling his leg, but he's starting to realize that Coach uses his strange humor and asshole-ishness much the same way Stiles does, to keep people from looking too close. Who'd have ever thought he had anything in common with Finstock?

He settles his head on Peter's thigh and tries not to get distracted by how good Peter smells. The man is already ridiculously attractive, it's unfair that he smells so damn good too. But at least he finally got to see someone render Peter well and truly speechless. It was nice to know that that calm, unrufflable facade could actually be breached. Plus it had been utterly hilarious to see his reaction to being called Peacock. Stiles is sure he will treasure that memory for months to come. 

Stiles's ears twitch a bit in surprise at how much Coach has actually noticed, and he can feel his eyes mist over when Peter reads the bit about Coach regretting not speaking up and being worried about finding his body. Maybe there really were people who would miss him after all. 

He can't help the small whine that escapes when he considers that Coach might join his dad and Scotty in wishing he were gone if Finstock knew the truth. Would he be so eager to help if he knew Stiles really was the monster his mother named him? 

"Shhh, sweetheart, you're all right. We'll get you sorted out, don't you worry. Finstock may be crazy, but he's smart and between the two of us we should be able to get you back to your human shape." 

Peter's fingers gently card through his fur, scratch gently near his ear. And boy does that feel good. Stiles leans into the contact letting his eyes close as he tries to memorize the feel of such a gentle and comforting touch. 

"You know, I think trying to figure out a way to communicate more effectively can wait a bit." Stiles blinks his eyes open, surprised to realize he'd almost dozed off. He looks up at Peter, who is watching with concern and worry clear on his face. "We really shouldn't have trusted McCall and his pack to look after you, sweetheart. Humans need contact as much as wolves and I'm guessing you've not had much lately, not if you're leaning into _my_ touch the way you are."

Stiles's ears twitch as he strains to catch that last bit, which was more of a mutter to himself than a statement to Stiles. He has to admit the better hearing is a big bonus for this form. Werewolves won't be able to talk without him hearing anymore. The downside is that he can't actually tell Peter that he's trusted him for a while now, so he licks Peter's hand and nudges it to indicate that he is not averse to more petting. Peter chuckles and carefully picks him up before settling sideways so that he's more reclining on the couch that sitting. Stiles is carefully cradled on Peter's chest, Peter's hands massaging his fur. 

"Perhaps a bit of pack time and a nap would do us both good, eh, Lil Red?"

Stiles is tempted to bite him for co-opting that nickname, but then those magic fingers might go away. He relaxes into the warmth and comfort, the warm spice scent of Peter filling his nose and the steady thump of Peter's heart a drumming lullaby in his ears.

* * *

Bobby unlocks his office door with one hand while trying not to drop his coffee with the other. He made sure to stop off at his favorite coffee joint and grab the largest snickers latte they had on offer. It isn't the sort of thing he allows himself to have all that often, but the quadruple shot of espresso plus all the delicious sugar-filled syrups would definitely help him get through the day. 

He is completely unsurprised to see the slightly translucent form of Deputy Tara Graeme in her uniform and leaning against his desk and waiting for him. As usual, a part of him ponders the physics of ghosts, but he pushes that aside and nods at the woman before he steps fully into his office and shuts his door behind him.

"Thanks for dropping by, Deputy Graeme." Bobby, for once, goes for serious and to the point. Tara had never had much patience for bullshitters, and well the health and well being of one of his students is serious business to Bobby even if he would deny it until his last breath. 

"Ms. Eda said you had some questions about the Sheriff and Stiles and thought I might be able to help." Tara quirks a smile at him, "And one doesn't exactly tell Edaline Finstock no. Though if I'd known you could see me, I'd have stopped by sooner. But I figure folks that know keep it quiet so you aren't inundated with ghostly visitors."

Bobby snorts, "Yeah, you're not entirely wrong about that. You're also not wrong about telling Nana no. She's a spitfire, for sure. Still appreciate you coming by though." 

He moves around his desk, settles into his chair, and takes a drink before setting his coffee down. His brow furrows as he contemplates how to start this conversation. If it were just whether the Sheriff knows about the supernatural, that'd be one thing, but how do you ask someone if their friend and former boss was neglecting or abusing his kid. He sighs and decides to just jump in.

"Look, I'm not sure how aware you were of the supernatural before your death, which was a damn sorry thing to happen and you have my condolences," Tara snorted, clearly amused by his bluntness, "but I'm guessing you've been read in since you decided to stick around a bit considering the vigor of the ghostly gossip chain." 

"I knew that there were things we didn't talk about, things beyond what was accepted as normal. I've seen one too many strange things to think that the otherworldly was impossible. But I wasn't aware of the details until after that bitch killed me for her twisted power play. Your grandmother and her friends helped me understand what happened to me and filled me in what they could." 

She frowned and the pain was clear in her eyes, "I know that one question you have is whether the Sheriff knows. And yes, he does, he found out shortly after my death, and from what I understand he didn't take the reveal that well. He and Stiles fought a lot, and I know he's been drinking more again. I tried dropping what hints I could, but you know how hard it is to get the attention of most living folks."

Her hands clench and he can tell it bothers her that she couldn't do much to help the Stilinskis. All he can do is nod because he can tell she isn't done. And despite what others think, he can be silent when he needs to be. Sometimes all you can do is listen.

"Then something happened to Stiles, though none of us," here she indicated her ghostly self, "know what precisely it was." Tara shakes her head and starts to pace, hands gesturing a bit as she talks.

"It was really weird, I went from being able to check in on them at any time to forgetting they existed whenever I thought to swing by their house. I could follow Noah if it was just him, but if Stiles was around it was like I couldn't focus on them at all. Whenever I thought about Stiles, it was like my brain would turn to static. Just nothing, you know what I mean?" 

Bobby nods and murmurs an ascent even though he knows Tara isn't paying him much attention.

"I know Noah thought Stiles had developed the same illness as his mom, but that was later proven wrong. And, god, how I wanted to kick Noah's ass when he admitted Stiles to Eichen House. I know that Stiles was the one pushing for it, but that place is just _wrong_ on so many levels." 

Here, Tara pauses and turns to look at Bobby. "I don't know what we could do about it, but, you mark my words, that place harbors something evil." 

"You'll get no argument from me, Deputy. Place has always given me the willies. Just never been able to figure out a way to address it without getting thrown into a room there."

Tara nods at that, conceding the point. "Anyway, the...void, for lack of a better term, around Stiles kept getting worse. Got to the point where I could barely think about either Stilinski or any of Stiles's friends without getting a headache. And yes, I know I don't have a body any longer, so I can't actually get a headache. But I don't know how else to describe it. And it was affecting all the spirits of Beacon Hills. I'd ask someone else to check in on them and they'd just...forget. And then I'd forget I asked." She shakes her head in frustration.

"Whatever was causing it stopped abruptly a few weeks back. But whatever it was, the damage it's done has been extensive." One hand moves up to brush over her hair, and she turns to Bobby with a truly worried look on her face. "Noah's been drinking more and more when he's not working, and he's taking every shift he can. I know we're short-staffed still, but he's working more than he needs to even with the staff shortage. And Stiles...damn it, our little Mischief is practically a ghost himself. His so-called brother seems to have abandoned him, and if anyone is talking about what actually happened it hasn't been where any of us could hear."

She collapses into the visitor's chair and drops her head into her hands before looking up at Bobby with a pleading look on her face. 

"Noah loves his son, don't ever doubt it, but they both need help they aren't getting. And now Stiles has disappeared and Noah's a mess. He's finally admitted he needs help, and thankfully Andy and the others are keeping an eye on him. I know Stiles isn't dead, I'm certain we'd have noticed his presence if he was, but if we don't find him in one piece and soon we may lose both of them, damn co-dependent assholes."

"Well," Bobby mutters mostly to himself, "that does answer most of my questions." 

He takes another drink of his coffee while he sorts through his thoughts on this mess. 

"The good news is that Stiles is very much still alive." His lips quirk up as he notices her visible sigh of relief, despite her assurance that she would know if Stiles had died, "Bad news is that he is currently rather fox shaped and I'm not entirely sure how to explain that to the Sheriff. Hopefully, knowing about the supernatural will help him believe me since I'd rather avoid the inside of Eichen myself."

Tara has the gall to laugh at him for that. "Something tells me that you'll manage to get through to him. After all, you seem to take "no" about as well as your grandmother."

Bobby chuckles, "You're not wrong about that. My main concern is that bringing the Sheriff into this would harm Stiles more than he already has been harmed. I like Noah, think he's done a good job as Sheriff, and before this, I would have said he was a good father if a bit absent. But Stiles takes priority right now. And if bringing his dad into this would hurt him, then I wouldn't hesitate to work around Noah. But my gut tells me we have a chance to fix this mess. Just answer me honestly, do you think Noah can handle this newest weirdness?"

Tara smiles at him, "I think, if given the chance, Noah would move heaven and earth to make things right with Stiles. Though they might need a little help in getting there."

"Don't we all sometimes?" Bobby asks with a bit of a huff. "All right, Operation Save the Stilinskis from Themselves is a go." 

He wags his finger at the ghostly deputy and adds "And don't think you'll get out of helping make this operation a success. Something tells me it will be a team effort."


	5. No Such Thing As No Regrets

_There's no such thing as no regrets_  
_But baby it's alright_  
\--"Almost Home" by Mary Chapin Carpenter 

Noah stumbles into the kitchen following the scent of coffee, part of him hopeful that maybe Stiles had come home, and blinks in surprise at the sight of Jordan Parrish cooking breakfast. He'd actually forgotten that his deputies had grouped together and divvied up babysitting duties amongst themselves, though Andy wouldn't probably give him a **look** for calling it babysitting. But if he's honest with himself, he's been acting like a baby, so the word fits as far as he's concerned. 

"Morning, sir," Jordan gives him a slight nod and hands him a cup of coffee. "Breakfast should be ready shortly. Good food may not cure everything, but it can certainly make facing the day easier."

Jordan turned back to the stove, checking on whatever he was cooking. Eggs and turkey bacon if Noah's nose was working right. 

"You know I've seen some wild shit, even before I settled in Beacon Hills. I'm sure you saw things you'd rather forget when you were in the Rangers, so you probably know what I mean." 

Jordan gestures with the spatula, reminding Noah a bit of Stiles, though Jordan is far calmer in his gesticulation than his son usually is. Noah can't help but chuckle in response, he does know what Jordan means. He had indeed seen some weird shit both in the military and in general law enforcement. 

Jordan portions out the food and carries the plates over to the table, going back to grab his coffee and make sure all the burners are off and the pans set aside to cool. He settles at the table, his focus on his plate before he takes a deep breath and looks up at Noah.

"I...god damn it," Jordan shakes his head, "I want to say I'm sorry, sir."

"What on earth could you have to be sorry for, son?" Noah couldn't help but interrupt. His newest deputy had been nothing but hard-working and hadn't even run for the hills when the supernatural shitshow of this town revealed itself. 

"I could see how much you and Stiles were both struggling, and I should have said something...offered aid of some kind. But I didn't think it was my place, despite knowing that I'm one of the only officers you've got who know what's really been going on. I guess I thought the McCalls would be there for you both. But after interviewing both McCalls yesterday, I came to realize just how wrong I was." 

"You couldn't have known, Jordan, and I don't blame you for thinking it wasn't your place. Hell, with as far up my ass my head seems to have been, I can't say I would have welcomed any of you trying to help more than you already were. I barely put up with you lot talking me into taking time off, so I can't say I would have been open to anything else." Noah shakes his head, drains his coffee, and gets up for a refill. Bringing the pot over to the table to offer Jordan a warm-up.

"And things between Melissa and I are...complicated," Noah continues as he pours coffee into their mugs.

"I'm honestly not sure if we would be friends if it weren't for the fact that we were both single parents and our kids were so attached to each other that it made sense for us to work together to try to raise them. We both have a tendency to work too much, for good reasons and bad. I got used to pulling overtime when I was a deputy to try to cover medical bills, and when I got elected Sheriff I was already used to working long hours. Which isn't much of an excuse, to be honest. Let's face it, my coping methods have never been the healthiest."

"Healthy coping mechanisms are harder to come by than people realize," Jordan responds wryly. "Bad ones are everywhere and are much easier to access than good ones. You aren't the first to self-medicate with alcohol and work. And acknowledging that you've fucked up is a good place to start when it comes to fixing things."

Noah sometimes forgets that Jordan is nowhere near as young as he looks. "Truer words, kid, I just hope this is something I can fix. Neither Mel nor I took the reveal of the supernatural very well, and I have to admit I resented the hell out of the fact that she didn't tell me when she found out especially since my very human son was caught up in it all. And from some of her comments, she resents Stiles for getting Scott turned. Stiles can be impulsive and too curious for his own good, which has definitely gotten him in trouble. But Scott could have made different choices too. They were both being stupid kids and are now dealing with the consequences. And well, we fucked up and dug our heads into the sand when we did find out instead of being the actual adults and stepping in."

"Not sure how you could have stepped in, sir. This world is just as new to you as it is to them, and they'd gotten a head start of figuring things out. Stiles especially. Not to mention that losing yourself in the what-ifs won't help you fix things."

"You do realize you can call me Noah, Jordan?" Noah raises an eyebrow at Jordan, who gives him a shit-eating grin.

"Sure thing, sir."

Noah rolls his eyes. "Surrounded by smart-asses, I swear. But I'm guessing there is a reason you brought up the McCalls. I'm guessing you were one of the officers dispatched to talk to them about Stiles's disappearance? Andy gave me a brief update last night when she relieved Nichols from 'Sheriff watch'. Mostly that none of his so-called friends had spoken with him recently. Not that I'm surprised by Lydia or Isaac's response. I get that they weren't that close to Stiles. But I thought Scott would be checking in on him. Another example of me burying my head in the sand, I guess." 

"I think we all buried our heads in the sand on that one, sir. Stiles always called Scott his brother, and we all forget that even chosen siblings don't always get along or support each other. We might expect it from blood siblings, but not from those who've chosen to call each other brothers. It's easy to forget that they're still kids. You and I, when we call someone that it's usually a bond formed as adults, often in intense situations. So we can not imagine turning our backs on a brother, and that colors our perceptions of how others would act."

Noah stares at his newest deputy slack-jawed. "Damn, kid, you hiding a psych degree that I didn't know about?"

Parrish has the audacity to laugh at him. "No, sir. One of my COs did have one though, said he found it useful for working bomb disposal. So I've done a good bit of reading. Not to mention had a fair few rounds with the headshrinkers after that last fubar. I've thought about taking some classes in it, though."

"Let me know if you need me to sign off on time off for classwork. Things are a bit rough right now, but we can definitely make that work if you want to pursue more education."

"Good to know, sir. But to answer your question, my discussion with the McCalls did bother me a bit. Melissa was mostly just dismissive. Said she hadn't seen him and that she had work to do. But Scott raised some issues that have me concerned, and, to be honest, I think he's reaching or grief is coloring his perceptions. But no one else is read in on the supernatural so I don't know who else to bring it to. I normally wouldn't discuss an ongoing investigation with someone personally involved, even another officer, but I'm feeling a little unsure of how to handle this." 

Jordan shrugs and for the first time this morning looks hesitant. Noah sighs and leans against the table, warming his hands on his mug. 

"I should probably figure out a way to read Andy and a few of the other deputies in on the situation as well. But that's something for another day. Go ahead and lay what Scott said on me." 

"The gist of it was that he felt that Stiles had dark tendencies before the Nogitsune, and that, according to Deaton, no one else has ever survived being possessed by one. He said straight up that he couldn't trust Stiles anymore, and that he wouldn't be surprised if Stiles was up to something terrible. Said that if we were smart we'd throw Stiles back in Eichen for good, which is bullshit, sir, even if Stiles were a danger to others--and I don't think he is--there is something very wrong with that place."

Noah gasps when he hears that Scott wants to put his son back in that hellhole. He knows that Scott was badly affected by his grief over Allison, but this was far worse than he'd thought. His stomach churns and his chest feels tight as he tries to wrap his head around that. While he tries to collect himself, Jordan continues clearly agitated.

"It just doesn't fit with what I've observed, and that bugs the hell out of me. I know I haven't known you both very long, but Stiles hangs around the station enough that it just doesn't make sense to me. Stiles is pragmatic and can be vicious in the defense of those he loves, but he's no darker or more evil than you or I. And before you go throwing yourself under any buses, you've made mistakes but are owning up to them and working on being better. If fucking up makes us monsters, then everyone on earth is one." Jordan's piercing glare was every inch the no-nonsense cop.

"Easy there, Parrish, I hear you loud and clear. And your right, I don't think Stiles is a danger to others. He can be vindictive when pushed and doesn't trust easily--but that says more about me and Claudia than it does him. I won't deny that he's broken right now, in ways I have trouble wrapping my head around. I should have tried harder to find an in-the-know therapist for him, but, after his experiences at Eichen and with his guidance counselor, I wasn't sure he'd be willing. Doesn't help that when I talked to Deaton, the only one he could recommend was said guidance counselor, who would happily have killed my child if it solved the issue. Although, now that I think about it Deaton hinted to me that nogitsune possession was survivable even if it wasn't common. So something isn't adding up here."

Jordan snorts, "I've only had the occasion to talk to the man once and I can tell you that man never gives a straight answer."

"You'd be right there."

"So to recap, and please forgive my bluntness here, we've got a missing teen with severe PTSD most likely triggered by something. The rest of the deputies will keep searching and investigating, working with Park Rangers and the Forestry folks to cover the Preserve. This being Beacon Hills, there is a strong possibility that the supernatural is involved. Of those in the know, we have what the two of us that we can trust? Scott and his "pack" certainly don't seem to have Stiles's best interests at heart given the statements we collected yesterday. Deaton is an unknown quantity that seems to have his own agenda. So it seems like there are two things we can do. We can work on a plan to read Andy in because I think we need another competent adult on board here. I admit that it would be helpful if we could have a werewolf handy for show and tell on that one, so we may have to brainstorm a bit on that. Second, we work on fixing the things in your life that we can and on laying a foundation to help Stiles when we find him."

Jordan claps his hands as he stands up, "And first things first, you can help me clean up the breakfast dishes, and then we'll work on cleaning the house."

Noah can feel his eyes misting up, he wasn't sure he deserved the loyalty and support of his deputies, but he was damn thankful for it. He smiles, though he can tell it's a bit shaky, "If I didn't know better, Parrish, I'd think you'd taken nagging lessons from my kid."

Jordan laughs, "Who says I haven't."

Stiles returns to awareness slowly. There is a comforting and steady beat coming from the warm chest beneath his head. He breathes deep enjoying the warm and earthy scents that he's beginning to associate with Peter. There is still a hint of the spices he associates with chai tea, but it's mellowed a bit and now he can smell a deeper, earthier scent that reminds him of the sandalwood incense his mom sometimes used. There is a soft snoring accompanying the steady rise and fall of his chest pillow and a warm arm wrapped gently around him. Stiles glances up to see Peter the most relaxed and unguarded he's ever seen him. He marvels at how soft Peter looks like this with his hair curled up, relaxed and a bit wild, and with a content, relaxed look on his face.

He thinks that this is a side of Peter he'd like to see more of. He'd have laughed himself sick if someone had told him that not only would he come to trust Peter Hale, but that he would grow to not just understand the 'wolf's motivations but would also enjoy his company and miss him when he wasn't around. Life sure does love its curveballs. 

He feels his tail wag slowly and, man, is that not a sensation he'd ever have thought he'd deal with. He glares at it, not liking that it seems to have a mind of its own. He may have a super-expressive face as a human, but he had gotten somewhat good at hiding his emotions. Or at least playing up his awkwardness to distract others so they didn't notice what he was feeling. Not that it helped with assholes who could smell chemosignals, but still having a body part that telegraphed his mood was just not on. 

"And what on earth has your tail done to piss you off, sweetheart?" Peter's voice was heavy with sleep though he was clearly amused as well. 

Stiles huffs and shifts his glare to Peter, who raises the hand that wasn't wrapped around Stiles in a placating gesture.

"Peace, Little Red, I meant no offense. Tails have a mind of their own, and it can be frustrating. I should make sure to take a few more photos of you in this form though, I think you'll find them amusing when you're back to normal shape."

Stiles's brain halts for a second, first when Peter talks about tails as if he knows from experience how frustrating they can be and second when Peter mentions taking _more_ photos. Because that means he's already taken photos and Stiles has so many questions. Some of his confusion must show on his face because Peter continues talking. 

"I took a photo of us relaxing earlier to send to Finstock as proof of life and assurance that I was treating you properly. I may have promised additional photos. Who would have thought that man was a mother-hen? A snarky and sarcastic mother-hen." Peter chuckles. 

Stiles though is still curious about the tail comment, so he nudges Peter's hand, looks back at his tail, and thrashes it a bit before back at Peter with as much of a "what about this?" look on his face as he can manage. Peter laughs and shakes his head.

"Should have known you'd pick up on that tidbit. Yes, I do have personal experience with tails and their annoying tendency to say things you weren't wanting to say. Though I did manage to get a bit of control over it eventually. Many Hales could fully shift, though we kept that fairly quiet. Managing the full shift required a level of self-awareness and acceptance that not everyone could accomplish. Some would say that the wolf and human had to be in complete harmony, but, honestly, that's bullshit because we aren't two separate spirits in one body even if that's how bitten wolves might feel. It's more about being in harmony with one's self and one's environment, which I know sounds like new-age bullshit. But even bullshit artists manage to hit on a truth every now and then," Peter says with a smirk.

"Shall we move to the kitchen? I promise I'll tell you more Hale secrets, but we could probably both do with a snack." Peter looks at Stiles, clearly waiting for a response. 

Stiles nods his head and lets himself relax into Peter's hold when he's scooped up.

Peter continues to talk as he walks them into the kitchen, "I pissed Talia off something fierce by managing the full shift before she did, especially since I was so much younger than she was. But I think the pressure of being alpha-heir made it harder for her to reach that level of peace for a bit." Here Peter's scent goes a little sour and Stiles can't resist snuggling into Peter's chest trying to offer comfort.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Things weren't always great between Tally and me. She never could decide if she wanted to treat me like her brother and Left Hand or like one of her unruly children. But for all her faults, she wasn't a bad alpha. Took on more than she should and didn't always listen to her advisors. But she loved her pack even if she wasn't always good at showing it to all of us." 

Peter pauses as he sets Stiles down on the kitchen counter, scratching lightly between Stiles's ears and under his chin before heading back to grab the bag of stuff that Finstock had left for them. Stiles isn't sure how long they napped, but, hopefully, Finstock hadn't put anything that needed to be refrigerated in the bag. Peter sets the bag next to Stiles on the counter and starts unpacking it. Stiles moves over and stands up to peer into the bag while Peter unpacks it, curious to see what Coach had included.

"I see you're as curious as always, sweetheart." Peter's voice was incredibly fond and Stiles is glad he can't blush right now because it's clear that Peter really does mean the endearment and isn't just winding him up.

"We've got some basic food items. Looks like some shredded chicken, a few fresh veggies, and some fruit. Not a bad mix of things."

Stiles watches as Peter grabs a plate from the cupboard and serves up a bit of each of the items, before offering the plate to Stiles. 

"I do expect you to eat, darling. Your crazy coach isn't wrong about you needing to be fed up."

Stiles is actually kind of hungry and is happy to start nibbling at the food in front of him, pausing and watching Peter between bites. He wants to know more after all, and he can't really ask questions. So he hopes Peter picks up on his curiosity and keeps talking. He watches as Peter looks through the fridge and cupboards, grabbing simple sandwich makings. 

"Hmm, looks like I have all the stuff to make a cottage pie and that would be something that would be easy for both of us to eat. Not sure if you've had it before, it's mostly ground beef and veggies topped with mashed potatoes. Sound decent for dinner? I'll make enough to feed Finstock as well."

Stiles yips in agreement as it does sound good. And for the first time since this started, he wishes he were human-shaped again because he has so many questions for Peter and apparently his thinking them really hard at Peter is not working. 

Peter breaks a bit of bread into bite-sized pieces and adds them to Stiles's plate, before leaning against the counter to eat his sandwich. Stiles notes that the slightly sour musty note to Peter's scent is still there and he wonders if that is what sadness smells like. He knows that it makes him want to hug the other man, but he settles for leaning against him while they both eat.

"You know I haven't actually tried to reach my full shift since I recovered from the fire if one can call that initial madness recovered." Peter shakes his head, "I think I knew even then I was too fractured, which is why I leaned so heavily on the alpha form rather than using my actual wolf form. Death gave me a bit of perspective and my return helped heal some of the broken parts of my spirit. But even I can admit I wasn't at my best then either."

Stiles whines a bit and nuzzles into Peter's side. Most of his body is tight against Peter's back, and his tail curls to hug the side of Peter's hip. Peter glances down at him and smiles. 

"Thanks, darling. Things are better now, I promise. One of the stipulations that I was given by the Character and Fitness Board was that I would need to get cleared by both a therapist and my primary care practitioner in order to get reinstated to the Bar as an active member again. Thankfully, I know a few in-the-know therapists. That and taking the continuing legal education courses that the Board also insisted on is why I've not been around much lately."

Peter pauses to polish off his sandwich, offering Stiles the last little bite before moving to tidy things up. Stiles figures he really is trying to feed him up, but enjoys the sharp bite of mustard covered ham and cheese. 

"But I've got a few fledgling pack bonds again, and Derek and Cora and I are at least on a path to healing our relationships. Let me tell you those were some very uncomfortable conversations, especially since Derek still communicates mostly via his eyebrows. I'm not sure we'll ever fully be a pack again, but at least they are willing to still be in my life."

He sets a small bowl of water down in front of Stiles, before moving to place another one in the living room. 

"Might have to see if I'm settled enough to manage it. Can you imagine the look on Finstock's face to see a fox and wolf playing together? Between the two of us, I'm sure we could come up with some delightful pranks."

Stiles laughs, tail thumping--though it comes out as the odd little chitter sounds he's gotten kind of used to. As soon as he has thumbs again, he's going to look up what fox noises are called. He hadn't even known they could make such a wide range of sounds. 

"You know that sound is apparently called 'gekkering.'" Stiles looks at Peter in shock. Surely he hasn't become telepathic, though it'd be useful if he had. But Peter's response lets him know that he did not spontaneously develop telepathic powers, which is frankly disappointing. 

"You aren't the only one who likes to research things they don't know, sweetling. Now we have a bit of time before we would need to start dinner. Finstock has checked in, so I should let your mother-hen of a coach know we're fine. Now, I don't know about you, but I think I've had enough heavy conversation to last me a while. What do you say we pick something mindless and fun to watch?" 

Stiles is curious as to what Peter might suggest for entertainment, and it's been so long since he just sat and watched something with someone else let alone had the ability to cuddle with someone when he was watching something. He bounces a bit in excitement and when Peter smiles and opens his arms, Stiles launches himself into them. When Peter mentions that he's been catching up on the Marvel films and was wondering how Stiles felt about the Avengers, well Stiles could resist licking the man's chin and wagging his tail.

"I'll take that as a yes, darling," Peter responds with a chuckle, gently hugging Stiles close.


	6. Lean on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more fluffy feels. <3

_You just call on me brother, when you need a hand  
We all need somebody to lean on  
I just might have a problem that you'll understand  
We all need somebody to lean on  
\--"Lean on Me" by Bill Withers_

"Jesus fucking Christ, what a day." Bobby rests his head on his desk. 

"You do know that it's not over, right?" Tara's voice was desert dry. 

"Thank you, Deputy Obvious. I totally needed that reminder." Bobby rolls his eyes before glaring at Tara and continuing, "You got an update on the Sheriff for me?"

Tara chuckles, "Well his house is cleaner than it's been in a long time thanks to Jordan. Apparently, he decided that keeping Noah busy was the best way to distract him."

"Great, at least the kid will come home to a clean house. If he wants to go home that is. But that's a bridge to cross later and all that. You got anything actually useful for me, Graeme?"

He sighs. After a day of dealing with sarcastic little shits and suck-ups who tried to butter him up to find out what questions were going to be on the final, Bobby thinks it would be nice if someone just got to the point for once. Nana would tell him like calls to like and he was just getting back what he put out in the world. Of course, he'd point out he got it from her, but that would just make her laugh more. 

"Well, does the fact that Andy and Jordan have convinced him to attend AA this evening help?" Tara smirks at him. 

"You know what, that is actually helpful. It won't look out of place for me to be there and might be the best place for me to approach him. It also gives me time to go back to Hales and check on the boys in person. And, ya know, find out if Stiles wants to see his dad. Now, you want to come with me, or you want to go back to Sheriff watching?"

"Think I'll ride along with you. Wouldn't mind seeing Stiles for myself." 

Bobby nods, knowing that Stiles had been raised as much by the deputies as his dad. He finishes packing his things up, locks up his office, and heads to his car. He breathes a sigh of relief when he makes it to his car without interruption. 

It's an oddly peaceful ride over to Hales with Tara riding shotgun. They sit in companionable silence for most of the ride listening to the radio.

"You know, I have to say I'm surprised by your music tastes. I'd have figured you for either old school country/western or 80s hair bands. Tori Amos and Barenaked Ladies are a bit of a surprise."

"What can I say, I like music. All kinds," Bobby shrugs. "Nana didn't care too much for television. So we often had music on in the house instead. Never really lost the habit."

Bobby finds a parking spot and they make their way up to Peter's apartment. Nana and Mr. Foggerty meet them at the entrance to the building, Nana grinning widely.

"Fozzie-bear! I've got to say, you made an excellent choice for caretaker. The young 'wolf has done a spectacular job caring for our little lost kit. In fact, I think it's doing them both a world of good." She gives Bobby a ghostly hug and kisses his cheek. The chill could be a bit much at times, but Bobby loved that he could still feel her presence and wouldn't change it for the world.

"Now come along, short-stack, those lovely young men are making dinner and we don't want to keep them waiting."

Bobby can see Tara mouthing "Fozzie-bear and short-stack" and shoots a quick glare her way.

* * *

Peter is chopping vegetables for an easy salad when there is a loud knock at the door. A quick sniff indicates that it's Finstock. Stiles has apparently come to the same conclusion because he bounces off the counter via the step stool that Peter had set up and races over to the door.

Their quiet day seems to have been as good for Stiles as it was for Peter. He had sorted out a way to communicate with Stiles after they'd watched Avengers. Stiles using a pen to type was a bit slow and frustrating, so Peter had decided to try the Ouija board that Stiles had gotten him as a gag gift after his return to life. The board was a lot easier for Stiles to use for communication and had been set up on the coffee table while they were in the living room, and on the counter in the kitchen. It wasn't the fastest way to communicate, but it worked.

However, he had curbed some of his curiosity and been very careful to steer from heavy topics as he figured they would dive into those when Finstock got back. Instead, he answered Stiles's questions about the full-shift to the best of his ability and asked Stiles about vegetable preferences for dinner. The one and only more serious conversation he'd had with Stiles had been shortly after they'd finished Avengers.

Peter could feel the tentative bond between them strengthening, and couldn't stand to let it develop fully without Stiles's consent. The pain of it breaking later would have been too much to bear. So he'd explained that he saw Stiles as pack, that he could feel their pack bond strengthening, and that if Stiles wasn't happy with that then Peter would do his best to smother the bond before it fully developed. This led to a discussion of packs, pack bonds, and what it meant to truly be pack. 

The whole conversation had ended with Stiles's clear and enthusiastic affirmation of their growing pack bond and another snuggle session. And Peter cannot deny how good the whole thing has been for both of them. Stiles is currently sitting in front of the door, tail wagging and yipping at Peter to hurry up and open the door.

* * *

Stiles hears Finstock when he exits the elevator and is surprised by how excited he is to see his crazy coach again. The man had revealed that underneath his sarcastic and sometimes caustic exterior was a giant marshmallow. Stiles totally gets that his teacher used a mask to keep people at a bit of a distance, he does the same thing. But now that he's seen a glimpse of the man behind the teacher, he kind of wants to get to know him better. 

He launches himself off the counter and dances over to the door, telling Peter to hurry up already. Peter chuckles and makes his way to open the door to let Finstock in.

"Man, whatever's in the oven smells fantastic! Now I feel like I should have stopped to grab something for desert," Finstock scratches his head and looks kind of at a loss on how to continue.

Stiles figures the man has no idea how to proceed now that he's here and they all actually have to talk. Peter thankfully cuts the man a break. 

"Not necessary, Bobby. I can call you, Bobby, right? After all, I feel as if we've bonded over our mutual concern for little red, here," Peter nods in Stiles's direction. 

Stiles takes that as a cue to go demand a ride into the kitchen from Coach. If there is one really big bonus to being a fox, it's that he can demand cuddles without anyone looking at him too funny. He jumps up to put his front paws on Finstock's thigh and yips at him, tail wagging. 

"And hello to you too, Lil Red. Glad to see you're in much better spirits this afternoon. Want a ride?" 

Stiles yips and nods his head, and snuggles into the man once he's been scooped up. 

"Yep, you're definitely feeling better. Guess I really did make the right call, leaving you here with our resident peacock 'wolf. And yeah, you might as well call me Bobby, if you want." 

"So you are aware of the supernatural. I had wondered, based on some of your comments, but wasn't sure. Can I get you something to drink? I have water, tea, milk, and a few different types of wine. I can also put on a pot of coffee if you'd prefer that."

Peter gestures them all through to the kitchen area. 

"Eh, water's just fine. Thanks. And technically I am supernatural, I just lack the whole claws and teeth thing, well the whole shifter thing entirely to be fair."

Stiles snickers, laying his head over Finstock's arm so he can watch Peter and see his reaction. He's glad that Finstock hasn't put him down, instead choosing to lean against the counter and continue holding him for a bit. Maybe the man, like Peter, had realized just how touch starved Stiles had been. Plus it is easier to get away with hugging someone who is a fox, since hugging one of your students is usually considered a no-no. Either way, Stiles is very much enjoying the cuddles he's been getting. He can decide if he wants to be embarrassed by it if he ever becomes human-shaped again. 

He's also enjoying the height Peter's eyebrows are reaching as he processes what Finstock just said. The Hales sure do have expressive eyebrows. 

"So not a shifter, a magic-user perhaps?" Peter's head tilts at Bobby as he pours some water into a glass and offers it to the man.

"Sorry, kid, but looks like I'll need to set you down." Bobby sets him on the counter-top and gives his ears an extra scratch, before turning to answer Peter.

"Not really a magic-user either, not in the sense you mean. Got a touch of earth magic, so I can make some of the potions and poultices Nana taught me. But mostly it's passive magic that I've got, primarily what my Nan called 'Second Sight.' Not particularly useful in a fight, let me tell you. But," and here Finstock gestures to the Ouija board on the counter, "I don't need one of those to talk to spirits."

"You're a medium? Or a seer?" 

"Could be classed as a medium since my primary gift is communicating with spirits. Wouldn't call myself a seer though. At least not like the ones portrayed in fantasy stories. I can see auras and can spot different types of shifters. Have a fairly strong intuition and very rarely prophetic dreams, but let me tell you the universe is an absolutely cryptic bitch when it comes to giving messages. Nana taught me the best she could, but I hated my gifts for a long time and tried to ignore them. Thankfully after my partner died she helped me pull my head out of my ass."

Stiles is surprised to hear Finstock mentioning a former partner. It's so easy to forget that your teachers have lives of their own too. He bumps Finstock's free hand in sympathy, getting a soft "Thanks" in reply. 

"Wait, you mentioned a Nana possibly keeping an eye on us in your letter, but I never did hear or smell anyone else in the apartment or even the hall outside of my neighbors. So I take it she's no longer among the living?" 

"Yeah, she passed about twelve years ago now. But hasn't wanted to leave me on my own just yet, thank god. I'll miss her like crazy should she decide to move on, though I'd understand if she wanted to do so." Here Finstock's gaze shifts a bit to the side. "I know you're in no hurry, Nana, but I know that one day you'll be ready to rejoin Pops and my parents and that's okay too. But until then you can stick around and nag me. Ah, cold hugs!" 

Coach laughs and shivers slightly as a blanket of cold-air envelopes him and Stiles before quickly moving away from them. Stiles glances over at Peter and sees a look of wistful wonder mixed with sadness on the man's face. It's a look Stiles fully understands because he's wondered himself about what it would be like if he could see the ghosts of those he lost, or to get one last hug. He'd tolerate the cold for that too.

Stiles pulls away and bounds over to Peter, launching himself at the man. Peter doesn't miss a beat, catches Stiles, and carefully lifts him so he can drape himself around Peter's shoulders. They'd done this earlier for a bit when Peter was getting the potatoes reading to boil, though he'd sat off to the side when Peter was mashing them. No use getting fur in their dinner after all. He licks Peter's ear and they both look over to find Finstock watching them with a smile on his face.

"Definitely made the right choice." The man nods, looking smug. And for once, Stiles can't fault him. He had made a good call. Peter chuckles and caresses Stiles's tail, looking at the timer on the oven.

"We've got about 30 minutes before dinner is ready. Did we want to adjourn to the dining room? We do have a great deal more to talk about, I think. And we might as well get the rest of the unpleasant bits of conversation done. Then perhaps we can work on a plan of action over dinner."

"Fair enough, fair enough." Bobby grabs his water glass and nods to the spirit board. "Wish I'd thought of that last night, could have at the very least drawn one out on a piece of paper. Oh, well if wishes were horses and all that. Should I bring that along?"

Stiles can't help the small whine he lets out. He's really not looking forward to this conversation.

"Probably wise. I know you don't really want to talk, Stiles, but we'll both be here with you."

"Exactly, Bilinski!" Coach is far too enthusiastic sometimes. "You've got your pack and, well, me. Not sure what this old washed up asshole can do, but we'll figure it out, kid. I'm done keeping my nose out of things, so you're stuck with me until you're human-shaped again and can tell me that you want me to take a hike." 

With that said, Bobby turns and carries the ouija board into the dining room. Muttering about pushy ghosts under his breath. Peter smells pleased and Stiles feels the vibration of his pleased and thoughtful hum. 

"We do have a pack don't we?" Peter cranes his head down to look at Stiles, before looking thoughtfully towards where Bobby had been standing, then back down at Stiles. "What do you think, Lil' Red? A ghost seeing high school teacher would fit right into our strange and broken little pack and family, wouldn't he? Shall we keep him?"

Stiles wags his tail and rubs his face along Peter's shoulder in response, unable to help thinking of his favorite Disney film. Their ohana might be little and broken, but no one would get left behind.


	7. The Hardest Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is a stealth crossover in this story, but it's more a nod to the other fandom via cameos than a true crossover, and would be completely AU for that fandom if it were anything more than cameo appearances. Because it's essentially just cameo appearances, I won't be tagging that fandom or marking this as a crossover.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Much love to you all.

_The hardest conversations  
Are the ones you never had  
Well you don't have to say it  
'Cause you know I understand  
Never been the bravest  
But if you need a hand  
\--"Walk Alone" by Rudimental_

"Let's do this," Bobby honestly isn't sure if he's talking to himself or Tara, who had elected to come along with him to the AA meeting. Sure, he normally came to the meetings, especially the one right after the anniversary of Mattie's death. But this time he has a much more delicate situation to handle and good god why did anyone give him this task? He has all the grace of a rampaging bull in a china shop. This is going to be a disaster.

A sharp blast of cold air on the back of his head jolts him out of his thought spiral. 

"You're as bad as Stiles at overthinking, aren't you?" Tara settles her spectral hand on his shoulder. "You've got this. We all agreed that you're the best person to approach Noah, and you aren't exactly alone. You've got me, and Stiles and Peter are only a text away."

Bobby gives Tara a slightly wobbly grin. He isn't really used to having much in the way of living support these days. He had people he was friendly with, but he'd be the first to admit he'd probably relied too heavily on ghostly connections in the past decade or so. It's gonna take him a bit of time to wrap his head around the idea of being pack--really of having a family again. And Peter and Stiles both made it clear that's what they were hoping to build and that they wanted him in the mix. 

That particular conversation had been a heavy one, and slow going since they had to rely on the talking board and Stiles spelling out any responses that were more than a simple yes or no. And god, hearing that his student thought he was a monster had to be one of the most heartbreaking things he'd ever heard. Peter had walked him through the whole Nogitsune mess, and Nana had gone on an epic rant about dark spirits and their effects on other spirits in the area. She'd then demanded that he cuddle Stiles for her and tell him in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely not a monster. The fact that he was able to fight such an old spirit for as long as he had showed just what kind of person Stiles was, and she was apparently tempted to go poltergeist on anyone who said differently. 

They'd managed to resolve that Stiles had no clue how became fox shaped and that the last thing he remembered was his dad calling him a monster. It took some work to convince Stiles that there might have been a misunderstanding. Bobby was incredibly thankful that Tara had come along with him as she was able to talk about how upset Noah was about his own actions and that he was terrified that Stiles was dead and it was his fault. So now it was Bobby's job to talk to Noah and get a feel for his side of things. Then he and Tara would make the call on whether to bring him over to Peter's or not. 

Glancing around the parking lot, he spots Deputy McAllister's SUV in the lot. Like him, Andy is a regular at the meetings. Both of them had managed sobriety for a good bit of time but found that coming to the meetings was a good way to stick with it. It's a decent chance to touch base with those who understood, and while the coffee was often shit, the cookies weren't bad. 

He figures that more than likely the Sheriff has come with Andy. He probably isn't the only one wishing they'd reached out to the Stilinskis and offered some support earlier in this mess. But regrets and wishes didn't change the past. All they do is step up now. Filled with renewed determination, he takes a deep breath and heads inside. 

He stops to greet the familiar faces as he makes his way over to the coffee and cookies. He does indeed spot the Sheriff, currently out of uniform sitting off to the side looking uncertain about being there. Andy is nearby talking to a younger man who is probably another deputy. Bobby tosses a jaunty wave her way but continues on to the refreshments table. There are the usual three carafes with coffee, decaf, and hot water. Bobby's eyes light up when he spots the hot cocoa mix next to the coffee. He quickly grabs two cups, pours coffee, and adds a packet of hot cocoa to each. He takes the two cups over and plops down next to Noah, handing him one of the cups.

"Poor man's mocha, and trust me it beats the hell out of drinking this coffee black. Even if you're used to drinking tar out down at the station. Trust me, I've been coming to these things for a long ass time now."

He watches as Noah cautiously takes a sip before smiling and taking a bigger drink. "You know, this isn't bad." His face falls and he looks at his cup sadly, "Stiles would love this."

"Well, we'll just have to introduce him to it when he's found. That kid's one of the toughest and smartest kids I've ever met, and I've dealt with a lot of 'em over the years. Don't you go writing him off yet." Bobby gently bumped the Sheriff's shoulder. "Look, I can't say I know what you're going through. 'Cause while I've dealt with plenty of loss, I don't have kids of my own. I can't even imagine what it would be like to have my kid go missing. But I do know what it's like to pull myself back together after epic fuck-ups. I know what it's like to rely a bit too much on hiding in a bottle, and the struggle it can be to get and stay sober. And...well...fuck I'm bad at this. What I'm trying to say is that you aren't in this alone." Bobby hopes he looks earnest and not crazy, but he's pretty sure he fails on that point. He can't help but mutter softly "Just stick your foot directly in your mouth, why don't you, Bobby? Sheesh."

Noah's chuckle startles him, "Are you sure **you're** not the one related to my son? Any relation to Claudia Gajos? Cause Claudie was just as awkward in her attempts to help sometimes. And Stiles got most of his motormouth tendencies from her." Noah's face crumples again, "God, I've fucked up a lot in Stiles's life, and now he's gone. And, I just....how does one recover from this sort of epic fuck-up? I'm terrified we're going to find his body and I'm never going to get the chance to tell him I'm sorry."

Bobby rests his hand on Noah's shoulder and squeezes, but the moment is interrupted when Bev calls the meeting to order. So Bobby just squeezes once more and whispers before settling back in his seat, "You don't have to talk today if you don't want to. It's perfectly okay to just sit here and listen."

* * *

Noah would never have expected that there would be a time in his life where he found the presence of his son's crazy coach comforting. But for all the man's usual frenetic energy, he is a solid, surprisingly steady presence by Noah's side. And outside of his two deputies, Finstock has been the only person to approach him so far. He's gotten lots of understanding looks, and quite a few pitying ones as well. Noah appreciates that Finstock hadn't hesitated at all when he approached. And Finstock's matter of fact acceptance and awkward ramble of an offer of help reminds him so deeply of Stiles, who could sometimes trip over his words as much as his feet. It's a stark reminder that for all that he knows most everyone in town, he doesn't know all that many well. It probably shouldn't shock him that outside of his deputies and Melissa McCall he really isn't that close with many. And he and Mel were largely friends by necessity rather than choice. 

Noah holds in a sigh and takes another sip of his coffee, the addition of hot cocoa really is a nice change of pace and the sugar boost is appreciated. It's been a while since Parrish had insisted they eat lunch. He focuses on Bev, who owns and operates the local diner that he and Stiles are so fond of, as she calls the meeting to order and listens to those who stand up and offer their own stories and experiences. 

It's humbling to hear some of the stories, and also weirdly reassuring to hear from others who have battled with alcohol and other addictions. There is no real structure that he can discern, people stand up when they feel ready to talk, and then there is often a murmur of responses and reassurances with soft side conversations that happen in the quiet between speakers. 

He isn't really expecting it when Finstock stands up but admits he is curious about the man's story.

"Um, hi. Most of you know me by now, but I'm Bobby, and I'm an alcoholic. Been sober about 15 years now, and it can still be a real struggle. Yesterday was a hard day for sure." 

Noah watches as Bobby closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Sixteen years ago my partner and I were heading home from a holiday party, one of those things his brokerage firm loved to put on every year and everyone would get plastered. He and I'd always been big partiers, so I didn't think anything of getting behind the wheel that night despite having had a few drinks. Mattie was truly lit, so it seemed better for me to drive. I kept to the backroads and figured I'd take my time getting us home. Damn deer startled the hell out of me though, caused me to swerve and in my panic hit the gas rather than the brake." Bobby's face is pinched with the memory and he runs a hand through his already messy hair. 

"Let's just say it was bad. When I woke up, I was in the ICU...shy a few bits and broken in more ways than I can count. And my Mattie, well, he was gone. Didn't last the night. Wish I could say I quit drinking that day, but it took me a while to get my act together. Part of me wanted to join the man who was my husband in all the ways that mattered. If it wasn't for my grandmother stepping in and helping me pull my head out of my ass, I probably would have joined him within a year. But as many of you know, Edaline Finstock wouldn't have stood for that, and she pulled me back to the land of the living kicking and screaming." 

Bobby's voice is wry and his lips quirk a bit on that last piece and quite a few of the people surrounding them chuckle including Noah. He remembered Edaline Finstock and that woman had been a true force of nature. He'd never really connected her to Bobby, though now that he's aware of the connection he can see the similarities. With as lively as the man can be, Noah would never have guessed the level of grief he carried with him. He couldn't help but meet the other man's eyes and nod at him in support. 

"So yeah, yesterday sucked, and there were a few times I was tempted to go in search of something harder than coffee. But thankfully a project landed in my lap that managed to distract me and keep me from dwelling on my mistakes too much. And the check-ins by a few of you helped as well. So thank you for that." 

Bobby collapses back into his seat and gulps more of his coffee. Noah doesn't think he's ready to talk yet, but he can go and get them more coffee and some of the cookies that were sitting nearby as well. He's thankful that the meeting seems to be very informal and people moving about doesn't cause all the attention in the room to shift to the person grabbing coffee. He follows Bobby's example and adds packs of hot cocoa mix to the coffee before heading back and offering a cup to Bobby along with sharing the plate of cookies he grabbed. He gets a quirked smile and thanks in return.

They both drink their coffee in companionable silence, listening to the stories of others, and as the meeting winds down Noah braces himself and stands up.

"So I know most of you probably know me, but I'm Noah, and much as I hate to admit it I've got a problem with drinking." He pulls a face, "Might as well call a spade a spade and admit that I'm an alcoholic and a workaholic." 

Noah takes a deep breath and draws on the quiet support he can feel from Bobby, as well as Andy and Jordan who had settled in behind the two of them once the meeting got started. Both had spoken earlier about their own struggles. 

"My dad relied on the bottle a bit too much, and although I swore to myself I wouldn't go that route, I found myself turning to it more and more to take the edge off the stress when Claudia got sick. Then after she died, everything hurt so badly and I had no idea how to face it or the things she'd done as her illness got the best of her. And now I find that my actions may have lost me my son. And I've got to get better for both his sake and my own. I just don't really know where to start, to be honest. But this seemed like a good place to begin, I guess."

All the wind goes out of him and he falls back into his seat, feeling whole unsure of himself. However, those sitting closest to him all take the time to assure him that this is a good place to start and that as cliche as it is, all journeys do begin with a single step. As the meeting wraps up, Bev wanders over to reiterate that and to add that just admitting you have a problem is one of the hardest but most important steps to recovery. She talks with him briefly about how things can work and the importance of having a sponsor--someone you could reach out to anytime you were craving a drink or struggling in any way. 

"It particularly helps if it's someone who can understand some of what you've been through," Bev's graying braids swing a bit as she nods emphatically in Finstock's direction. "He may come across as crazier than a horse who's gotten into locoweed, but he's a solid man and has a good heart behind all that snark of his."

With that, the heavyset woman pats him on the shoulder and wanders off to talk to some of the other newbies. 

"So I'm guessing you haven't eaten in a while, and I don't know about you but I could go for some decent coffee and a slice of pie at the least. We've missed the worst of the dinner rush and can probably find a quiet booth at Bev's. And well, there's a bit more I'd like to chat with you about, might as well feed you in the meantime. What d'ya say? Andy and Deputy Baby-Face over there can tag along if you want."

Noah and Andy both chuckle when Jordan rolls his eyes at the nickname, and Andy chimes in, "I could eat, let me stop in and check on things at the station and I'll meet you all over at the Magnolia." 

She pats Noah on the shoulder as she walks out. "Well, I guess we've been outvoted, Parrish. And since our ride just left, looks like we're with you, Finstock."

"Excellent," Bobby claps his hands together and starts herding them out the door, "Let's get this show on the road then."

* * *

Bobby gets everyone settled in his car, the baby-faced deputy taking the back seat so that Noah would get shotgun. Bobby doesn't miss the way Parrish shivers, though, when Tara settled into the back seat as well. There is definitely something "other" about the young man, and whatever he is seems to be more sensitive to spirits than mundanes and some of the other supernaturals. 

He taps the wheel and hums a bit while he tries to figure out how to start this conversation. Now is as good a time as any to broach the subject, he knows that these two know about the supernatural and they've got privacy being in the car. He isn't sure if Andy knows or not, and while she'd be great to have onside, it might be best to get the ball rolling. Sure he's likely to stick his foot in his mouth again, but there is no good way to open this conversation. 

"Alright, fuck it, just get it over with, Bobby," he mutters, before adding at a more normal volume, "So I have it on good authority that you're both aware of the general Hellmouth and shitshow of weird that Beacon Hills is?"

Bobby does his best to ignore the gales of ghostly laughter from behind him that fill the otherwise stunned silence of the car.

He glances over to see Noah blinking in astonishment at him and a quick glance in the rearview mirror shows Jordan's not doing much better. 

"I'm just not sure how much you know, to be honest. My sources weren't all that sure either beyond the fact that you knew that the supernatural existed and had dealt a bit with our resident failwolves. But I'm not sure how much you know beyond that. To be honest, it's a complicated mess of a world and even I'm constantly learning new things and I was raised in this world."

"Wait, what?" Noah's voice is rough with shock, "You're not a werewolf, are you? Surely Hale would have picked up on that. What else is there? Druids? Were you raised by druids?"

"Hell, no. Many druids are okay sorts, but a few of them take the whole "maintaining the balance" thing way too far. As if the universe isn't perfectly capable of maintaining her own balance. Idiots, the lot of them." Bobby can't help but glower at the road. "The Finstock family has long had a touch of earth magic, with the occasional medium or seer thrown in the mix, though I get more of that from my grandmother's side of the family tree. Many would call us hedge-witches, but the Hawthornes, in particular, were frequently trained to be Emissaries--ambassadors between groups of supernaturals. And I may have fought it tooth and nail growing up, but Nana made sure I had all the training even if I chose to never use it. Said there would come a day that I would likely need it. Not sure who would be crazy enough to want me as an Emissary, but there you go. Nan had hoped I'd get over my denial and desire to be a "normal" kid and be ready to take up the position when she and her Alphas decided to retire and hand things off to a younger generation. Sadly I was adamant I wanted to go to college and be normal and that I could do that if I just buried my head in the sand. Drinking helped blunt my abilities and I was so sure I could live a mundane life. The problem is that no amount of drinking can change my basic nature, and while I may not have any flashy powers, I can't get away from the fact that I'm supernatural."

Bobby shakes his head and glances at his rather rapt audience. It's not a long drive, so he should try to wrap this up a little quicker. 

"Losing Mattie drove that home in a lot of ways, no amount of drinking could keep me from being able to see and hear his ghost. And let me tell you getting an epic ass-chewing from the ghost of your dead partner is a hell of a trip. Didn't help that Nana backed Greenburg up every step of the way."

"Wait, Greenburg's your ex?! That explains why I never once spotted a jersey with that name despite the yelling…."

Bobby chuckles, "Yeah, he hated me yelling at high school students. Would berate me until I yelled at him instead, telling me that they were not the same as college athletes and to tone it down a bit. Let's just say I hadn't been prepared to go from teaching and coaching at a college level to doing the same at a high school level. But when I moved back after the accident, I fell into the job at the high school and over the years just decided to stay, wasn't sure what else to do with myself really. And for all its faults, Beacon Hills is home." 

He shrugs as he pulls into the diner's parking lot. The cafe part of the sign had burned out a long time ago, so it just read "The Magnolia" at night. It was a 24 hour joint with good food and good coffee for reasonable prices and had been a staple in Beacon Hills for as long as Bobby could remember. 

"So I have no idea how much Andy knows or not, but I wanted to let you guys know that I know. And wow, that was a mess of a sentence. I'd been keeping my head down because I didn't figure the kids would accept help from their crazy coach. Plus I know McCall works with that shady druid. Nana couldn't stand him and was so mad that he took over as Emissary when she retired. I don't think he knows I'm her grandson, but if he did, you can bet he would have told the boys to stay away from me. Probably worried I'd call him on his bullshit."

Jordan laughed, "You might get the chance yet if you stick around. I'm pretty sure Deaton's the reason Scott is so convinced Stiles is out there plotting to kill us and not just a traumatized kid on the run." 

Jordan paused, "You are aware of what happened with Stiles recently?"

"I wasn't aware of the exact details until today actually, but I did get the full run down earlier. There aren't many things that can fuck with the perceptions of spirits and a medium's abilities, but, unfortunately, Stiles had the shit luck to encounter one of them. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help then, but I think I can help you guys now. But we should probably go in and eat, Stiles would never forgive us if we didn't make sure you were looking after yourself, Noah."

Noah couldn't keep the hopeful look off his face, "He's not dead?"

Bobby couldn't resist reaching out to squeeze Noah's shoulder, "He's most definitely not dead."

Noah practically collapses in relief, unable to keep the tears from falling. Bobby is glad he keeps a stash of napkins in the center console and hands a few over. Jordan, meanwhile, gives him a shrewd look.

"Why do I get the sense that you know exactly where he is?"

"Probably because you're not stupid." Noah's head jerked up and Bobby rushed to cut him off before the man demanded to be taken to his son right this second. "Before I agree to take you to him, we should finish our conversation. Because for all the weird shit you've seen, this might be weirder, and we are going to need to handle it delicately."

At this Noah's face went from fiercely determined to utterly confused and concerned. "How on earth could his disappearance be weirder than possession and werewolves? He isn't possessed again is he?"

"No, he's still very much himself. Well sort of. He's all there mentally and spiritually, but his physical shape is not the one you're used to."

"What did he turn himself into a girl or something?" 

"Or something. He's currently got four feet, adorable pointed ears, and a tail. How he managed to change himself completely into an animal, none of us are sure. But I've put in a call to one of my sort-of cousins and her wife and they're on their way to help us sort this out. Amity and Luz both have more active magic than I do."

"Sort-of cousins?" Jordan asks.

"My great aunt Lilith, Nana's sister, took Amity and her siblings in much the same way that Nana did with me. Except that there was no biological connection and Amity's parents were dead, they were just assholes. But anyway, we were raised as cousins. And when Amity got married, Luz became another sort-of cousin." Bobby shrugs, gets out of the car, and wanders over to open the passenger side door, tugging Noah up and out of his seat.

"Come on, let's go get some food into you, and then we can go see Stiles. I can assure you that despite being much smaller and fuzzier than normal, he's in good shape and being well looked after by a friend of mine. In the meantime, pie! And maybe we can sort out whether Andy should be read in. My vote is yes, and if you're both in agreement we can bring her along with us after for the show-and-tell portion of the evening."

Bobby flashes a quick grin at Jordan, who jumps in to help shepherd Noah into the diner.

"We can also talk about sponsors and learning to ask for help. Fucking hard thing that, I still struggle with it. Let me tell you. But like I said earlier, you aren't alone in this. Maybe I'm a bit late to the game, but now that I'm in, I'm all in. Now have a seat and tell me what your favorite kind of pie is. Me, I'm a big fan of chocolate cream, and if I had to guess I'd say Deputy Baby-Face over there is an apple pie sort, he just oozes All-American charm. You strike me as a pumpkin pie sort of guy, but I could be wrong."

Bobby grins widely. When all else fails, distraction by sheer exuberance is always a good way to approach a situation. By the time they've eaten and are ready to go Noah should be a bit calmer and more ready to see Stiles. There were more hard conversations on the horizon, but they'd get through them one conversation at a time.


	8. Lay Your Head on Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get an update done on this story. I ended up signing up for a reverse bang and a fic exchange, and it turns out I'm not so good at juggling projects. I continue to appreciate the love and support that this fic gets and hope you all enjoy this update. It's a short chapter, but an important one.

_And every single scar that you claim  
Is a stone in the path to this place  
And every single choice that you made  
Has led you this way, so lay your head on me  
\--"Lay Your Head on Me" by Major Lazer (feat. Marcus Mumford)_

"So I don't really know how to broach this, Andy, but you know all those things we just don't talk about here in Beacon Hills?" 

Noah isn't sure how to broach this topic, but he had chosen to ride along with Andy as they followed Finstock to their destination because he knew she would be expecting him to want an update from the station. It also gives him a few minutes to get a feel for Andy's knowledge level and lay the groundwork for the supernatural reveal.

Finstock had managed to cajole them all into eating dinner and pie, keeping the conversation focused on lighter things for the most part. Noah had been surprised to find himself relaxing as the meal progressed. Knowing Stiles was alive helped tremendously. Jordan had been the one to let Andy know that Bobby had some additional information for them but had hinted the sources were unofficial enough that it was a conversation best had elsewhere. 

"You mean the bizarre amount of inexplicable animal attacks and other weird shit that no one wants to bring up for fear of being sent on a long vacation at a psych ward?"

Andy's got a great side-eye, and her response makes Noah chuckle. 

"Yeah, those things," Noah trails off because he's really not sure how to continue this conversation.

"If you're trying to figure out how to ask me if I'm ready to follow you down the rabbit-hole, then the answer is yes. If it will help me protect you and this town better, then, yes, I am ready to follow you and Jordan down whatever bizarre path I must."

"I don't know what I've done to earn that level of trust, Andy, but I'm damn thankful for it, even if I don't deserve it. But be aware that this is knowledge you can't unknow, if you want to drop us off and head back to the station I'd understand and not think any less of you."

Andy snorts and shakes her head as she parks near where Finstock had, "Tell me this one thing, boss, will knowing help me find Stiles?"

"Yes. And I won't lie, having another competent adult read in on the situation would be a godsend."

"Then count me in. I must admit I'm curious who Finstock knows that lives in one of the nicest apartment complexes downtown."

They get out of the car and move to join Finstock and Jordan. 

"Honestly, I'm not sure who we're meeting either." 

Bobby claps his hands as they approach, "Excellent, we're all here and ready to go. But I wanted to lay a few ground rules before we go in."

Given the serious look on Bobby's face, Noah would think they were about to enter the final half of a championship game and not that they were here to be, hopefully, reunited with his son and whoever was looking after him. And as ansty as he is to see that Stiles really is okay, he's learning that Finstock cares about his son's well being too, and he hasn't forgotten that he'd said they needed to treat the situation delicately. So he nods and focuses on listening to what the man has to say.

"Now, Andy, some of this is likely not going to make one lick of sense to you, but bear with me, okay. We're going to be seeing Stiles," Bobby holds up his hand to forestall Andy's questions, "You'll understand why I didn't just bring him home when you see him. He's okay, or okayish, but we've got to get a couple of things straight right now because I refuse to hurt that kid any more than he's already been hurt."

Bobby looks Noah straight on, "One, you are not to in any way imply that the current situation is his fault. Not even jokingly. He's not in a place where he can take that sort of joke. He'd absolutely take it to heart and think you blamed him, which makes it 0% funny and therefore not a good joke. Got it?"

Thinking of all the joking statements he's made and realizing that maybe his son didn't know they were jokes makes Noah swallow uncomfortably. He nods his understanding though, too choked up to actually answer.

"Good. Two, do you in any way, shape, or form consider your son at fault for recent events."

Noah chokes out, "What?! God no! He's--"

Bobby barrels right on, so Noah doesn't think Finstock heard him or maybe he just needed to keep going because he'd never get the words out otherwise, "Because at the moment he is convinced that you think he is a monster. And while I'm fairly sure that's a misunderstanding, I'm not willing to take a chance. He's been hurt enough as is. So if you can't go up there, accepting that your son has the world's shittiest luck possible, and be apologetic and understanding, we're just going to call it a night now. I'll read Andy into the situation and have Jordan take you home. I like you Noah, and fully plan on helping you, but that boy is my priority right now." 

Noah closes his eyes and pushes down the urge to throw up. God, Stiles must have come home and caught him while he was drunk. Why did he keep hurting his boy? He can feel the tears sliding down his face, and feels a hand grip his shoulder.

He wipes the tears and glances over to see Andy looking at him with concern. He shakes his head at her and looks back to where Finstock is waiting on his answer. There is compassion on the man's face, but also a resoluteness that he usually only sees on the field during games.

"I'm glad someone is putting my son's well being first, even if it's not me. I don't," Noah takes a deep breath to steady himself, "I don't think any of that was his fault, he was in an impossible situation and I hate myself for not listening to him when I should have, for not believing him about his mom or about the supernatural. If anyone is the monster here, it's me for having failed him so utterly."

Finstock's face softens and he walks over and claps Noah on the shoulder. "I don't think you're a monster either, but it's gonna take some work to get you both to believe that. But you might want to start with telling him exactly what you just told me, and then keep repeating it. Okay?"

Finstock then pats down his pockets and comes out with a wad of napkins which he shoves at Noah, "Sorry I don't have any tissues, but here. Let's get you cleaned up a bit and then we can get this reunion sorted."

Noah makes a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp and takes the napkins to wipe his eyes and blow his nose. Not the best way to clean up, but it will have to do for now. He doesn't know what he's done to earn the compassion of these people, but he will do his best to live up to their belief in him.

* * *

Stiles paces around Peter's living room, unable to stay still right now. Too many thoughts and worries running through his head as he waits for Bobby to get back with his dad and the two deputies that they all agreed should come along. 

Peter watches him carefully while telling him about some ridiculous prank he'd pulled in college but seems to sense that Stiles needs to move right now, which Stiles appreciates. He's still kind of amazed that Coach and Peter both sought his permission and approval before putting this plan into effect. Coach had even double-checked that Stiles was still okay with the plan before they left the diner. He's not used to people listening to him, not really. 

Peter's phone vibrates indicating a new message. Stiles stops his pacing and watches as Peter reads it.

"They're here and are heading up. Bobby wants me to let you know that he laid down a few ground rules, and suggests that maybe I should hold you so you can't go hide under my bed. Hmm, that's not a bad idea."

Stiles honestly thinks that hiding under Peter's bed sounds like an excellent idea, and is edging his way towards the hall when Peter sighs and drops to sit on the floor right in the middle of Stiles' path. Stiles could dart around him, he's fast. 

"If you would like to hide under the bed, I will let you. But I'd really like it if you'd stay out here with me. Please? You're so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, sweetheart, and you won't be alone in this. If your dad says one thing wrong Bobby and I will have him out the door before you can blink, okay?"

And damn, what can he say to that heartfelt plea and offer? In the past few days both Peter and Coach had shown him numerous times that they really do mean it when they say they have his back. Maybe they really do mean it?

Stiles slinks forward and crawls into Peter's lap. He's shaking slightly and doesn't protest when Peter cuddles him close and whispers affections and reassurances as he stands up and moves towards the front door. Stiles can hear four heartbeats approaching and Coach's voice offering an anecdote about old Mr. Foggarty and a tenant who'd tried to sneak a peacock into her apartment as a pet. Peter opens the door as Bobby wraps up the story.

"The constant screaming noise alerted both property management and the cops, and the bird was rehomed, but not before it had already done some significant damage to her apartment and a bit of damage to her as well. Apparently, she didn't realize they were so loud or aggressive, but that's people for you, failing to think things through. And here we are!"

Bobby makes a showman's gesture to the open door and grins at Peter and Stiles, "I have returned with friends. Well, I think they're friends or at least potential friends. But anyway, we've returned."

Stiles' attention is zeroed in on his dad, who looks ragged and worried. The man had stopped short as soon as he saw Peter and the fox in his arms. Stiles goes rigid, his ears flat. His tail tries to curl up under him but Peter's arm is in the way. He can hear himself whining, but can't hold it in. Peter runs a soothing hand through the fur of his neck but stays quiet waiting to see what the Sheriff does.

Noah chokes out, "Stiles?!" 

Stiles nods slightly and braces himself for his father's anger or disappointment. 

"Oh god, Stiles," Noah rushes forward, completely unheeding of the werewolf holding Stiles, and pulls them both into a hug, tears running down his face. 

He steps back slightly, but reaches out to frame Stiles' vulpine face with gentle hands, "I'm so sorry, son. I have failed so much as a father, and you've paid the price for it. I don't think you're a monster, I promise, that word was for me and my failures, not you, son. Not you."

Stiles doesn't need Peter's whisper that his dad is telling the truth, he knows what his dad looks like when he's spinning bullshit to calm someone down. It's not this raw pain that he's seeing now. He wriggles in Peter's arm and does his best to try to launch himself at his dad. Thankfully, Peter figures out what he wants and helps with the transfer.

His father hugs him close, and buries his face in Stiles' fur, "God, I thought I'd lost you for good Stiles, that I'd find your body out in the preserve and I just….I'm so sorry. I'll do better, but, please, don't leave me, son. I can't lose you too. I can't."

Stiles licks his dad's cheek and soaks in the hug. He doesn't even mind that he'll have a damp spot in his fur, not if it means his dad doesn't hate him. He barely notices that Bobby and the others had managed to herd them further into the apartment and out of the doorway and hall area. 

"I haven't done a good job in taking care of you, Stiles, but I'm gonna do better. I'm getting help for my drinking and will get help for my workaholic tendencies too. I'm not sure how or why you're a fox, but we'll sort that out too. Just give me a chance, please?"

Noah looks down into Stiles' eyes as he asks that, and Stiles nods and licks his chin. He's willing to give his dad a chance if his dad is willing to give him one. Maybe they really will be okay.

"And we'll all be around to help make sure that any stumbles are sorted out quickly," Bobby notes as he holds out a box of tissues, "and, hey, Peter's got fancy tissues. These'll feel better than the napkins I had in my pocket."

Noah chuckles wetly, "Thanks. And sorry to barge into your home, Peter. But thank you for looking after this one. I was so scared he was dead and that it was my fault."

"You're always welcome in my home, Sheriff, at least as long as you are actively trying to be better for your son. But you aren't the first to fuck up when it comes to family, and I can't really cast stones there. So come in and make yourself comfortable, I think we all have a lot to talk about." 

Peter glances around at everyone, "That goes for everyone by the way. I've got tea, coffee, juice, and a variety of waters sparkling or otherwise. Please let me know if I can get you anything."

As everyone gets settled, Stiles just curls up in his dad's arm, happy to breathe in the familiar smell and soak up the affection.

**Author's Note:**

> I write for fun and relaxation. All mistakes are my own, but I generally prefer to hunt them down myself, thank you.


End file.
